


The Go-Between

by Morgan_Primus



Series: Tahiti Syndrome AU [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Angst, Crack, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disassociation, Dubious Consent, Everybody Dies, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Hallucinatory palinopsia, Hypnagogia, Mirror Universe (Star Trek), No beta we die like redshirts, OOC, Ontological Inertia, Parallel Universes, San Dimas Time, Selfcest one degree removed, Talking To Dead People, Time Travel, WIP, Weird Plot Shit, non-con, temporal narcosis, word vomitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 46,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Primus/pseuds/Morgan_Primus
Summary: Concrit welcome, but it was tagged as 'crack' from the first chapter.Sufficiently advanced technology, crack and ability to manipulate space-time cause PTSD, narcoses and psychoses.How two characters cope.WARNING: My first fanfic, this story follows a very twisted and confusing path with multiple iterations of characters from different universes. Resolving all the conflicting plot elements will be a herculean task and it probably won't make much more sense when the work is complete. Caveat emptor.
Relationships: Christine Chapel/Spock
Series: Tahiti Syndrome AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067849
Comments: 35
Kudos: 24
Collections: Synaptic Pattern/Neurogenic Field AU





	1. Mirror Spock, Mirror Spock, Mirror Spock

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit welcome, but it was tagged as 'crack' from the first chapter.
> 
> Sufficiently advanced technology, crack and ability to manipulate space-time cause PTSD, narcoses and psychoses.
> 
> How two characters cope.
> 
> WARNING: My first fanfic, this story follows a very twisted and confusing path with multiple iterations of characters from different universes. Resolving all the conflicting plot elements will be a herculean task and it probably won't make much more sense when the work is complete. Caveat emptor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The unconscious sends up all sorts of vapors, odd beings, terrors, and deluding images up into the mind—whether in dream, broad daylight, or insanity;” —Joseph Campbell.
> 
> Warnings for abrupt tonal shifts downstream.

_ My lady abandoned heaven, abandoned earth, To the nether world she descended _ -Sumerian Mythology.

**The Go-Between**

She stumbles off the transporter platform, leans forwards and vomits. Tears stream from her eyes, nose running, vomit tendrils hanging from her lower lip.

She opens her eyes again, curious since she has no sleeves to wipe her tears so settles for smearing them with her bare arms instead. When did she wear sleeveless uniforms? Why is no one helping her? 

The view is wrong. She hears a voice. It’s Mr Scott asking Captain Spock to come. Captain?

Their uniforms. The mirror Enterprise. 

What the fuck?  It is always these routine landing parties, it seemed, that went awry.

Captain Spock assesses her hair colour. Unless she’s dyed it during her few hours mission on planet, she’s not their Chapel. He has a better way to determine.

“Miss Chapel, follow me.”

She follows this strangely bearded other-Spock to his quarters, his guard in tow.

In his quarters, he tosses her a sleeveless black robe of some kind. More sleevelessness.

“Put your soiled clothes in the fresher and attend to personal hygiene.”

He sits at his desk when she emerges, her face bare of makeup and hair tied back.

He motions to a chair placed temporarily next to his. Without preamble, he raises his fingers to her psi points. She forces herself not to flinch. As far as she knows, she has no rights here. They will keep her alive if they want their Chapel back.

He shares nothing but she can feel him rifling her memories, thoughts, motivations..dreams. Oh gods.  Her fantasies of him.

Mind rape. This isn’t her Spock. 

“I have confirmed that you are from the USS Enterprise. I have also assessed enough of your thoughts and memories to know I can leave you here unattended, I will lay out the following rules:

“It is safer for you to remain in these quarters, therefore I must forbid you to leave from here. There will be two guards posted just outside at all times. Avoid being in sight of the corridors when the doors open. Do not allow entry to these quarters for anyone other than myself. Every request will be routed through myself. Computer access is restricted to you for now, I will issue you a padd for personal use. Do not page through the intercom, nor answer the intercom except when I personally page you. All transmissions are logged.

Do not respond to red or yellow alerts. If you require medical attention beyond what your medkit can provide, I will facilitate such. I will keep your remaining equipment in my safe, which will be returned to you in the event that we can transfer you back to your universe. The equipment you beamed aboard with belongs to this ship, regardless, but we will beam it along with you.

I decide when and  if  to attempt a transfer.

The synthesiser there, should you wish a meal or liquid refreshment. I will secure toiletries for you, including articles of clothing and footwear.

You may sleep on either the bed or the floor, alone. If you will excuse me.”

To Chapel they are so many Thou Shalt Nots, leaving her with little to distract herself.

Thus begins their strange little existence together. Any thoughts of intimacy beyond sharing of quarters depart, beyond sharing meals, working and reading quietly at the desk. 

It gnaws at her, knowing she’s restricted here but worse, knowing this is the best possible lot in life on this ship. She has not even the comfort of research, or the refuge of lab work. She isn’t useful, isn’t needed except as a placeholder for her counterpart. 

_Wouldn’t surprise me if they allow her  to use  my  quarters on the USS Enterprise, where she’s free to pick through my possessions and use  my  authorisation codes. She may be permitted to do my duty in sickbay, while I’m stuck here under the nose of a simulacrum of the man I love, so close and yet “Never and always untouching and untouched,” fucking mockery!_

_Poor Christine Chapel, can’t catch a break! What good would it do to be close to him anyway? I can’t stay here and he won’t keep me here even if I wanted to be._

He’s on the other side of the screen, meditating. Her eyes well up. Maybe she can weep silently, she’s good at weeping. 

A few sobs escape.

_What does it matter if he can hear me?_

If he does hear, he doesn’t acknowledge. 

_Which is worse?_ She wonders,  _His studiously ignoring my gasping sobs or him showing silent but unmistakable_ disapproval?

She chooses his bed, and drifts off into restless sleep.


	2. Descent

_*..In restless dreams I walk along...journeys end in lovers meeting...Spock my love...soon Lady Christine...deep voice...throbbing...ten thousand people maybe more...a test a task he has a task for me...then he will send me home...message in fleshy bottle...tap my brain..limbs spasm morse code...western union...pretty painted fleshy messenger puppet...st. vitus patron saint...everyone staring...look ma, no strings...you have no new messages...please forward message to recipient...I’m trying to sleep, stop sending...career in shreds auditory hallucinations...no one believes me...Spock, my love...why are you here behind me when I’m alone..?*_

“Miss Chapel?”

_* ...I await thee ...* _

“Miss Chapel! Wake up!”

She falls abruptly out of sleep.

“Sir?”

“You are mumbling in your sleep. It is distracting.”

O gods.  She does quick dream recall and is mortified. Damage control time.

“So sorry, Mr Spock, I was dreaming about my former fiance.”

“Of course, Miss Chapel.” He switches back to ignore-mode.

_This will never do. Time to flip my sleep schedule. I shouldn’t be concerned if I’m up during his sleep hours._

She lies half in the dream world half out for the remainder of ship’s night.

/———————————————————————————————/

“Sir, do you have any projects I can assist with?”

“No, Miss Chapel, you are not authorised to use the labs or the workstation.”

“Maybe I can work from a padd, sir?”

“Your assistance is not necessary. If there should come a time when I require your particular skillset, I will most assuredly notify you.”

“But sir, you’re missing a crewmember: the other Chapel.”

“Miss Chapel, surely it has not escaped your notice that we are experiencing a lull, with the exception of your unfortunate encounter with the transporter.”

“Maybe during this lull might be a good time to work on sending me back to where I came from, sir”

He’s starting to sound annoyed.

“Miss Chapel, I have already indicated that I will attempt to return you to your ship when I determine that the timing is beneficial to me, to include perhaps never. Do not make this request or suggestion again. The matter is not open for discussion. ”

She tries another tack. “Sir, do you like plomeek soup?”

He sighs. “Yes, Miss Chapel. However, I hope for your sake you are not suggesting that you are willing to serve me meals.”

So much for that tack. “No, sir. Of course not. Where would I prepare it?”

_Real smooth, Chris._ She cuts her eyes to her padd, which isn’t even powered up.

She wonders if her crewmates in that other place are anxiously awaiting another ion storm like the one that brought her here so they can try beaming other-Chapel down in hopes of gaining the-right-Chapel back up. What are the chances of these re-transfers ever being successful? Isn’t it damned amazingly unbelievable luck it worked the first time when Kirk et al. found themselves herethen returned? 

_Face it, kid. You’re not going home. Better practise throwing knives accurately, brush up on your martial arts. Maybe you can learn to toss poisoned hypos fifty meters, rig them to plunge on impact. Maybe you can annoy yourself home_.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning she’s alone, she performs a prison workout routine before shower and a light breakfast with coffee. As she eats, she scans the room for possible escape routes. As much as she’s tempted to inventory every item that is left unsecured, she suspects he will know in real time, because he’s probably left a nasty little present in her mind during that meld. 

She hasn’t  felt  alone since, yet can’t crawl out from under her crushing sense of loneliness.

She wonders if this is how it’s going to be from now on, until she can find someone who specialises in removing mind wire taps.

This is what Leonard probably felt. This is the same brain invader who violated him. He hasn’t been right since then, either.

_How on earth can I ever approach my Spock about this? He’ll feel obligated to deal with the mess that is my mind again, only worse. The Vulcan doesn’t deserve this. This isn’t his fault. What if he doesn’t find anything? He’ll order me to seek professional help. Next stop: psych ward. End of the line. Check your career at the door._

She needs his well-ordered mind more than ever, but the thought of tainting that beautiful psyche with her corrupted thought processes was anathema to her. She can hardly seek out another Vulcan healer without implicating the son of Sarek.

_Get a grip, Chris! You’ve only been here 48 hours! You’re a starfleet officer and you’re starting to crack already! You’re not even sure he’s done anything to you!_

She decides what she needs is to listen to soothing music. She walks to the terminal and hisses in frustration. She checks her padd - except what she’s input, there’s nothing on it. She will ask the Captain later to download some selections to her padd, she thinks he’ll grant her that much. She writes out a playlist in her padd. Oh, and some literature...and maybe some research journals...a Vulcan language guide and some texts to translate. She’s feeling optimistic now. Some padd games, as well.

She paces his quarters, taking in the decor. She takes a closer look, trying to absorb herself in them aesthetically with what she knows of Vulcan culture. She can get something positive from this experience yet. 

She looks for books without opening any drawers. None in view. Perhaps he can bring her books. She writes another list of books she’d like to read.

Wait a minute.

_What makes you think a music and book list from your universe would correspond here? No matter, I’ll ask him to choose for me. He was back fairly early yesterday, if it stays quiet I can reasonably expect him back early tonight._

She realises she misses having company, even if it’s not companionable. She doesn’t like being alone, trapped here. She suddenly has the urge to see into the corridor, to see the guards. A chat would be nice.

She palms the door switch to open, but they don’t respond. Another piece inside her cracks, and she whimpers .  Such a small thing like opening the quarters for a short while denied nearly undoes her.

_Give me the brig where at least I can see out through the forcefield, see other people!_

She decides to tidy up. First wipe down the shower and environs, then work back through the quarters, top to bottom. It’s mostly immaculate already, grrr.

Afterwards, she wracks her brain for something else to keep her occupied. She reaches in her medkit, grabs something that will make her sleep and injects herself. There, that ought to kill five to six hours. She settles onto the bed and passes out.

/—————————————————————————————————-/

She wakes hours later to empty quarters. She brushes her hair, then grabs a meal from the replicator.

Twenty minutes on, she starts a journal in the padd. She dabbles writing poetry. She sketches. She starts to write a short fantasy novel. She begins to create a world from scratch. She sketches a crude map of her world. She creates national mythologies for each little kingdom of her world. Then onto royal dynasties, important battles fought and lands conquered.

More hours pass , and she’s lost interest for the moment with her world. She’ll come back to it later when inspiration hits. 

She scans the quarters again.

_If he doesn’t grant me those few favours, I’ll carve anything carvable in here and make a chessboard._

He still isn’t back. She’s expected him to arrive at least three hours ago. Mood utterly deflated, she lays her head in her cradling arms on the desk and cries herself to something like sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

“Captain, I’ve got a few minor requests.”

”Miss Chapel, you lack for nothing you truly need.”

”Please, sir. I’m drowning for lack of something worthwhile to do. I’m used to finding solace in my research.”

”Miss Chapel, you have food, clothing and comfortable shelter, among other things.”

She charges on. “Sir, I request your choice of music selections, literature, a means to study and translate Vulcan, some padd games...”

”No.”

She slams the padd on the table. “Bastard!”

Unmoved, his impassive gaze is worse than being physically punished. Cruel to be just kind enough. Robbed of victimhood. He goes back to his work.

“I would rather you sent me to the brig to be at the mercy of whoever, _sir_.”

”Perhaps you think that is true, Nurse. Your duty is here.”

”My duty? I don’t even have a commission here, Captain.”

”You are not being charged for being sheltered in the Captain’s quarters, Nurse.”

She drops to her knees, lays her head in his lap and pleads. “Oh, please, sir. What sort of game are you playing?” She’s broken.

He pushes her away. “I could ask you the same, Miss Chapel. You forget yourself. You strip yourself of what dignity you have. You are not here to be coddled.”

”...Ok...ok, then. I give up, sir.” 

Spock ignores her.

Left to her own devices, she goes back to her padd and fiddles with it. Her well-known aristocratic bearing is slipping. Her perfect posture is fading.

She doesn’t look up. “The least you could do is hit me. Something, anything other than indifference, sir.”

Spock refuses to respond.

“What did you put in my mind, sir.”

”I put nothing in your mind, Nurse. You are doing all the work.”

_Self-sabotage? More like someone is gaslighting. Not sure who, if I’m honest._

There it is. She doubts herself. She is on course to blame herself for whatever is really starting to trouble her. 

She already expects tomorrow to be worse, and worse the day after, and so on. And no doubt they will be, because she tells herself they will. The dirty downward spiral.

If she could only sleep until she got the order to report to the transporter room, to be sent home. 

/———————————————————————————————————————————/

She goes back to sleep early, planning on rising before he does. He’s up and gone before she wakes. 

The new day brings fresh frissons of fear. As she walks past the mirror on the way to the shower, she sees _him_ or his reflection out of the tail of her eye.

Cold shock rushes through her as she grabs the duvet to throw over it. 

_What else now? I know it’s all in my mind but I’m not sure if I’m the only one inhabiting it._

She’s wary of the mirror in the baths too, her reflection alone gazes back upon her. _Sigh._

It’s down to dealing with dread until the next trick, which is worse? she wonders.

She hits upon a desparate idea as she finishes washing up. _It’s worth a try, risk assessment says minimal, except it’s going to feel more like a seance than probing a weak link._

_Can one reach another from alternate universe to universe through a link or bond?_

Over the years, Chapel and Commander Spock, executive officer of the USS Enterprise, have built up a spark of a link, due to sharing consciousness during the Henoch affair to speaking wordlessly to eachother as Spock struggled through illness and injury in sickbay - her insistence upon holding her patients’ hands. She’s never been rude enough to probe the link without actual contact, she has no choice in this case.

She’s not sure what good it would do but she’s certain it would bring her comfort. 

She decides to use firepot, lighting it and kneeling. “Lights 30%.” Calling upon every concentration technique her nerve-frayed mind can summon, she slowly sinks into a sort of light hypnogagic state, a little further than she intends. She wants to hover a tick of two above but instead falls into a light sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Dammit!” as she catches herself asleep.

She stands to encourage circulation, careful not to lock her knees in extension lest she topple over, walks short circuits in the meditation area for about a minute, then settles back into position.

_I don’t expect it to work the first ten or twenty tries, if at all. I have the faith of the nothing-to-lose on my side though. Ok, deep breath in five seconds hold three then exhale for six. Try that pattern first._

Focussing on the flame til there’s nothing else left, she pours all her desire, love and affection towards an image of Spock she holds in her mind’s eye. Her lids fall unbidden, she imagines she can almost see his countenance projected onto the inside of her eyelids, his image outlined with a thin border of glowing gold light. If she’s not careful, he’ll have one of those classic Madonna with Child halos found in renaissance paintings. 

He is so vivid, right down to the scars along cheek and jawline.

_Commander Spock, forgive this clumsy attempt if this reaches you._

There’s no wrong way to do this, but less is more once focus is achieved.

_*Spock! Can you sense me! I’m trapped in a place I don’t belong in, I fear this universe will reject me after too long!*_

_*It’s Christine!* (Silly! he’d know!)_

She tries time after time, wondering if there’s anything here with her that he’s touched other than her hand. The transfer stripped her all of her burdens and exchanged them with her counterpart.

 _*Miss Chapel(!)*_ Can it be? Spock!

_*Nurse, you are a very foolish woman but for once you do something useful instead of wringing your hands.*_

Seven sorts of hell and two more for spite! It’s mirror Captain Spock!

* _Go away, leave me alone. This isn’t intended for you,_ sir! _Fuck right off!*_

 _*Then, Miss Chapel, I suggest you find a way to reach past me to him, although I will be able to intercept anything you send to him and he to you.*_ Did she just sense amusement? 

* _You think it’s possible to reach him, don’t you?_ * She feels a niggling of hope rise within.

* _I do not know, but I have often wondered. Do not forget, respect due to rank still applies, Lieutenant.*_

 _*My mistake,_ Captain. _If I can get hold of him, would you like to send greetings?*_

_*Rest assured, if that were my intention, neither of you could prevent such. Nurse.*_

_*Pffft, sir. The nurse respectfully requests that the Captain go back to driving herd.*_

More amusement. If only he would just go away, needless distraction, and why do I have a link with wrong-Spock anyway?! There are no accidents when it comes to him.

* _Of course I established a link with you when I probed your thoughts. It is within my remit. While you are here, you are mine. It may also be within my power to keep you as mine from anywhere. You would be my link to that other realm which I cannot reach. I would wish to avoid quantum katra entanglement at a spooky distance. Does this idea not interest you for the sake of knowledge? Diplomacy?*_

 _*Captain, while very intriguing, you’re giving me much to consider at the wrong time. Kindly ‘step out of the way’, we have time to discuss this face to face. Please. Lovely mixing of metaphors, by the way.*_ She nearly dies of laughter.

 _*As you wish, Nurse. We_ will _discuss this later. Spock out.*_

Chapel giggles at his end-transmission choice, imagines him snapping his communicator cover shut.

She remembers she will also have a talk with him about his ‘ghost’, too. Ffs.

She resets her breathing, still distracted with their chat. 

_I think I’ll take a break and try again later, counterproductive at this time._

_*Nurse - Christine. This is Commander Spock.*_

_Oh, you have got to be ripping piss!!,_ she thinks to herself, forgetting he can likely pick up her mind chatter.

* _Mr Spock!!! Oh, Spock, I’m so - I can’t remember ever feeling this relieved in awhile! This is Spock from USS Enterprise? I don’t know a challenge that can’t, you know, be picked up by your doppelganger here.*_

He sends her an image of greeting her when she reported for duty the first time. 

!

The other might’ve picked that out of her memory, but she doubts he’d bother impersonating his ‘not-self’.

* _Nurse, rest assured, they will return you to us. They want their own back. You must be pragmatic. We have not had proper conditions to effect transfer yet. Be mindful, Christine, that you may be returned to us in an altered state, you may share something you had not previously, for the purposes of something greater than all of us. It is, I suspect, the price of keeping you protected there. We will discuss your more distressing psychological experiences later. I believe I can help, but if I cannot I am acquainted with those who can. I must go now. Live long and prosper.*_

 _*Goodbye, Spock.*_ although she sensed he’d ‘cut the signal’.

_What a ride! The implications!_

_Alright Chris, now what? What in hell does wrong-Spock want and why did he mention keeping a measure of control of me after I’m gone? Unless he needs a willing go-between?_

More importantly, how does whatever this turns out to be complicate her life, and is it permanent? 


	6. Chapter 6

The stress of linking takes Chapel’s strength reserves with it. She’s disoriented and feverish, so she forces herself to eat and hydrate then drags herself off to take a quick shower. She isn’t aware that she has crawled into bed naked, except for the sheets she drags over her. She sleeps the sleep of the dead for hours, until Captain Spock returns to his quarters.

He wants to speak with her but allows her to rest. Routine is as Vulcan as their fringes, so he takes care of hygiene, meditates, eats, then works again. As a gesture to Chapel, he cues some classical. He thinks he will compromise in tiny ways, not enough to be obvious.

Around 2200 she awakens, cozy wrapped in his bedsheets, goofy almost secure in her fuzzy contentment that perhaps things are turning the corner. She appreciates the warmth the quiet music brings to the quarters. 

Opening an eye to sneak a glance at the Captain with his head bent in his research, she cuts straight to the chase.

“Captain, aside from the possibility that I may be somewhat crazy because first alternate universe problems, why would there be a wraith that looks like you in your quarters?”

”Miss Chapel, the ‘wraith’, as you describe it, is one possible side effect of melds that leave lingering links created under stressful conditions. They are due to conscious or subconscious awareness of another who has left a ‘remnant of themselves’ within one’s mind. They can be perceived in different ways, for example, as somewhat incorporeal likenesses of the other - in this case, me ; as ‘shadow people’, as four legged creatures. It depends on a number of factors; the artefacts appear due to the need of our minds to resolve foreign thought-forms into something primal. These phantasms may be created by one or both members of the link. Links shared by three or more individuals are rarer but are also possible, although I recommend against them.”

”I can resolve your perception of your ‘Spock phantom’, but I thought it possible you might want to leave it as a souvenir of the time we have spent in each other’s company.” This time his slight smile was unmistakable.

”Sir, no offence, but when I’m experiencing an extremely private moment, I don’t want to suddenly see your ghost leering down at me - but we can clear that up later.”

”Nurse, Vulcans do not leer.”

Chapel rolls her eyes, “I’m sure.”

”Alternately, with effort I can make your ‘wraith’ appear as a solid, full-bodied apparition.”

”Yeah, that’s a definite ‘no thanks’, sir.”

She is going to enjoy this ease until it all comes crashing down. Something about this all seems forbidden, uncanny. Especially now that’s she’s suddenly aware that she’s nude under the sheets.

”So, gonna come visit me on the other side now and then, sir?”

”Since an almost exact duplicate already resides there, I am not sure that would be wise, Christine.” She grins; first name basis now. The universe can collapse on itself now.

The vague sense of foreboding is back. “Christine, have you ever kept track of how many times your anxiety occurred within hours of a very unfortunate event? Because humans are prone to forms of cognitive bias.”

”Yes, Spock. I’m aware, but I do notice the feelings, so when something negative happens soon after, I tend to remember those times more versus when the feeling pointed to nothing significant.”

Spock comes over to recline beside her, since he realises her state of undress and this is more accommodating for her. There is no direct contact. 

“Christine, I would strengthen the link with you, at least until I can find another suitable candidate. The link can be broken without negative consequences by your first officer, or another trusted Vulcan. I predict the probability of another ion storm event within the next 48 hours to be 69.4%” 

Christine laughs but it would not do to explain why she thought the value amusing. She shakes her head at his unspoken question.

”We should coordinate to achieve a much higher chance of successful transfer. You will contact Spock again at 0600 hours. It will not take much preparation thereafter: sharing surface coordinates, matching distance from cloud entrance to the synchronised moment of transporter sequence initialisation. If we are unsuccessful next time, we will wait until the next ion storm after that. Our two ships cannot wait indefinitely, of course, but we can always return.”

Christine has already decided. “Ok. Do it. Just be gentle - I’m a virgin.”

”You are not, but I will begin.” He rubs his fingers together as if to warm them or to give them luck, and gently places them on her temple. 

The experience isn’t unpleasant. She likens it to tiny tentacles weaving or braiding through her thoughts.

”It is done and should be sufficient.”

”Do you want to share your bed with me tonight?”

”I do not think my Christine would approve.”

She laughs so hard tears run from her eyes. “You two aren’t bonded yet, I assume.”

”No, she is in favour of forming this link with you though, such that she is willing to wait to fully bond. I am...somewhat relieved the accidental transfer happened to you, however much trauma it may have caused. For that I apologise, Christine. But I believe you will find it was worth the trouble.”

She sighs. “Spock, what else happens after we’re both restored? Where do we go from here?”

”That, Christine, will take another few chapters to tell.”

“Mr Spock?”

”Yes, Christine?”

”I think I will hang on to my Spock link phantom for now.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapel, trapped in the mirror universe, attempts to contact Commander Spock, who is in the prime universe, telepathically.
> 
> Her counterpart, Dr Chapel, has a conversation with Captain Kirk while awaiting transfer back to the mirror universe.

0600, rise and shine. It’s quiet, Captain Spock is quiet on the other side of the room divider where he made made a nest of standard issue camping pad and several large harem-worthy pillows. AU Christine is a lucky girl. 

Chris tiptoes over in ballet style slippers Spock procured for her, and lit the firepot. She sank down on his meditation stone and practised breathing exercises and focussing on the image of Commander Spock, at least one universe away. It is 0600 there too, she’s predicted he’s wide awake but still in his quarters.

* _Mr Spock, can you sense me? We need to coordinate. Captain Spock is here with me, let’s compare notes. Come back.*_

Oops, that wasn’t protocol but what is protocol for communicating through an alien mind link?

* _Mr Spock, this is Nurse Chapel. Can you sense me through the link? (I love you.)*_

That last bit from her mischievous mind. This is going to take some getting used to.

* _Miss Chapel, good morning.*_

Of course he picked up that one. Dear gods.

”Captain,”

”I am awake, Christine. I have my Christine on another line.” 

Laughter flooded the link. * _I apologise, Commander Spock. Perhaps one of you should pick a nickname for these group calls.*_

_*You may refer to me as Selek, Miss Chapel, when we are in Captain Spock’s ’presence’*_

_*Something tells me you will utilise that alternate name for a long time.*_

_*Many happy returns of the day for all of us, Miss Chapel. May you find the knowledge of benefit wherever and more particularly **whenever** you find yourself. Let the Captain read his info to you so you can relay it to me.*_

Commander Spock can sense his counterpart faintly through Christine’s link with him, but it is like trying to tune an old radio station in from too far away. 

All coordinates etc. relayed and triple-checked, now to wait. 

* _Commander, we have what we need here. Wish us luck.*_

_*Good luck, Christine. I expect to see you here soon.*_

_*_

/——————————————————————————————-——-/

“So Doctor Chapel, any thoughts regarding similarities or differences  between the cultures on our ships?” Kirk asks, taking another swallow of black coffee. 

“First thing”, Chapel begins, “I’ve noticed is that we have this awful supervillain reputation as being the evil Enterprise. I might’ve believed it if I hadn’t had the chance to wander all over this ship the last few days. There’s this thought that officers and crew on my ship were killing each other off left and right. If that were really true, why is the core crew here still almost identical to the core crew on my Enterprise?”

“When I walk through a forest, do I want that poisonous reptile camouflaged or do I want to see it for what it is well before I step within its striking distance?  Here, snakes are camouflaged. Where I come from, we see them for what they are. And Jim, we have our own forms of accountability. Deeds don’t go unpunished.”

”I like my life there. I can see benefits of living here too. Either way, if you’re not a survivor, neither the ISS Enterprise nor the USS Enterprise is for you. That’s what I think.”

”Food for thought”, Kirk muses. “Christine, I wanted to ask you what potential your Spock thinks there is in cross-dimensional communication? Aside from coordinating transporter glitch fixes. From where I’m sat, the only thing that you can bring back from a vacation in the mirror universe is yourself and ideas. It’s not as if we can smuggle Romulan Ale to and fro.”

“He wanted to know if it was possible first,” Chapel replies. “Haven’t you ever wondered how each universe is so consistent with its alter? For example, I marry John, but my counterpart marries Harry. I have a son called Mark, the only one like him in my universe, but my counterpart will never have a son called Mark like mine. Mark never exists here, but Mark _has_ to exist, doesn’t he? In a third universe besides mine and yours, Mark exists.”

”Might prove useful to me knowing that Mark doesn’t exist in this universe, hmm? I can’t explain, just call it a hunch.”

“Whatever info gained via crossverse communication would be extremely privileged,” Chapel winks at him. “However insignificant. I tell you, from my universe, that there’s a black cat in my yard right now. How many other people in this universe will know there’s a black cat in my yard right now?”

Kirk laughs. “I don’t want to find out ten years from now that you’re in prison for insider trading.”

“Right,” Chapel grins. “Because that would be extremely privileged info to know in this universe. Think of the blackmail potentials: _hey Larry, I heard you’re in prison for money laundering and pederasty in universe x.”_ For some reason she finds the thought hilarious and can’t stop giggling, which Kirk finds sort of creepy.

”Don’t worry, your secret is safe, Captain,” she shoots him an evil grin. Kirk decides he doesn’t want to know.

”I’d keep my eye on you,” Kirk says, “if I could. Who says I can’t?” Which sets off more uncontrollable giggling from her. Kirk can see why mirror Spock is drawn to her. She’s fun, in a goofy way. Spock always had a well-honed appreciation for humour, and loves to hear laughter. Getting him to admit it though..

”Since we’re on the subject,” purses his lips twice quickly for dramatic effect, “whatever happened to the Kirk in your universe?” 

”See there you go again,” Chapel smirks, “that’s extremely privileged info. Pay up! Seriously, I really don’t know. Rumour mill likes to believe Spock bumped him off to gain captaincy, but it’s not his style. I tend to believe Spock offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse, a very special sort of deal called blackmail. No one talks about it in the upper ranks.” 

Arming himself with his classic charisma smile, he teases, “Don’t worry Christine. Your secret’s safe with me.” They’re both cracking up. “Who would believe me if I told them?” 

“You’re a fast learner, Jim!” 

Chris takes another bite of her muffin. “We must think we’re getting good at this, Jim. Look at us here, casually eating breakfast before I’m boarding the ion storm express shuttle? Couldn’t make it up. If things keep going the way they are...well, knowledge like this needs to be kept out of the wrong hands. Hands like mines!” She’s laughing so much she’s got half the dining hall staring at them. Rumours will fly. 

”Next up, sets of us will be planning to glitch ourselves out of our universes for a few days. We’ve got the key, Jim. Just the few of us. Mayhaps work out a way to get Captain Spock in your head too. Right now, it’s just Chris number two and Captain Spock - pretty sure sneaky First Officer Spock here has a front row seat somehow,” she giggles and waggles her eyebrows at him.

“Level with me, Doctor.” Kirk charges in, “How many officers did you have to kill to make ISS Enterprise ACMO?”

”Oh come on, Jim,” she rolls her eyes at him. “A lady never kills - I mean kisses - and tells.”

Kirk sends the eyeroll back at her. “Put two and two together, Jim. I’ve got my MD. That other Chris was a few months shy of getting hers before she dropped everything to find that walking pus bubble Korby. Yeah, I did some research on the ‘puter. Curiosity. Guess who I didn’t let get in my way, I took particular pleasure in saving him the trip to Exo III. Assuming that’s where he would’ve ended up.” She performs a slow visual sweep across the dining hall as if to say, _I see you. All of you._

Kirk supposes it’s a survival instinct coupled with confidence she wears like a cloak. 

“Hey Tiberius, when you guys gonna get my girl a personality transplant?” 

He’s not sure he wants to touch that one. “Be more specific, Chrissie.”

”She’s got the rep of being a certain Vulcan’s doormat with a matching dishrag.” 

“Then you must’ve overheard the competition, their opinions are irrelevant. She’s got some things to work through like all of us, but she doesn’t lack confidence. I’ve seen her point those icy blue glare of death beams at admirals and higher. Pew Pew. Neutralised. Had them practically eating out of her hands. Especially when it comes to her patients.” he leans back as he pushes his tray toward the edge of the table. “You haven’t spent time around her because, well, it’s against the laws of physics.” He chuckles, “A shame when you think about it.”

”...as for that Vulcan, he’s got some particular feelings for her, too.” He flings his napkin into his plate, then does his own dining hall sweep. 

“Where is everyone today?” 

”Some people gotta work, Captain.” 

“Pre-launch jitters.”

”That too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**USS Enterprise, Prime Universe stardate 14867.5**

“Come.”

Commander Spock enters Nurse Chapel’s quarters and seats himself at the desk across from Dr Chapel.

“Soon?”

He nods. “I estimate approximately within two to three hours. We could have effected transfer without waiting for an ion storm event, but Captain Spock refused.” He’s frowning, “I believe he wanted time to gain rapport with her.”

She shakes her head and looks away. “Spock. I know. They’ve already-”, she leaves it hanging.

He places his elbows on the desk, hands in praying mantis pose. “Have you felt anything through the link since last night?”

“I usually didn’t perceive much of anything unless he was experiencing strong emotion, or pain. I can tell that there’s less than there was, but I can’t tell if it’s ‘less’ or just ‘none.’ We’d agreed to contact at 2300. When I probed, there was none. It’s gone.”

“I know there may be any number of possible reasons but I’m braced for anything. We don’t know much about cross-dimensional telepathy, do we? I’ve done some research but it was specific to that universe. Types of potential interference, I mean. We need to name our timelines.” She laughs then rubs her eyes.

He ignores her questions. “I have tried to reach her several times today, unsuccessfully.” He leans back and rests his hands on the seatrests. “Are you prepared to be stranded here, Christine?”

She gazes at him. Her eyes show confidence and resolve...maybe desire. Her little smile is coy, open to interpretation. “I’m a survivor - and an opportunist. It isn’t in my nature to depend on expectations,” she sits back again and sinks down into the chair.

“I could get used to this place. I don’t want to look forward to staying then find us going back to the original plan. I’ll step onto the transporter pad when we’re ready. Be prepared to beam me back just in case, please,” flashing him a smile - a genuine smile. Of what, he’s unsure.

Spock shifts back to steeplehand position. He hasn’t revealed everything he’s sensed before the link disappeared, and he knows she’s with-holding too. Does he trust her? Does he trust his counterpart? She’s easier to trust; he can test her veracity up to a point.

“Want to take a nap together for an hour or so?” Those are definitely bedroom eyes staring into his.

“Dr Chapel, ask me later, when you should be on the ISS Enterprise.” She laughs, slouching further into the chair still gazing at him. She’s amused. Her demeanour isn’t one of a jilted, abandoned lover.

“I offer to create a link between us for the same purposes as the one my counterpart put upon her. I have crafted one type with what I believe has the right balance of intensity and tenacity. Even if we are not ‘careful’ -“

“You mean like the link with Christine that decided it preferred to be a minibond?”

“It was not - it is - not a bond, but it did grow.” Why is he discussing this with her?

“Mm-hmm. You’d better start putting that link in me. Good thing I travelled light.”

He moves his chair close to hers. “Can I take a nap til you’re finished?”

“Please be silent, Christine,” he lays on fingers to temples then plays with little link tendrils for awhile - to her great amusement. Little spock hands busy tying tiny effervescent golden threads.

“Sooo, Spock. What other things besides strong emotions, pain, and distress can I feel through a link like-“ 

“Christine, please,” he pulls her close with one arm for a few moments. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she gets up to check the quarters before they go.

*** 

“Any mental contact from her yet, sir?” she asks in undertone. They’re waiting in the transporter room, with a few extra personnel.

“Not yet.” They’ve tested their new link a few times. It isn’t intrusive but transmissions are crisp and well-defined both ways.

“Which outcome do you prefer, commander?” she sneaks a quick peck on his cheek.

Spock smiles in his way, then leans in, “The best outcome for the needs of the many.”

“Get into position, Doctor.” Scotty orders.

“Pad preference?” she asks, half in jest. She picks one then closes her eyes and tries to zone out.

_*Use our link the next time,*_ he sends to her.

“Energise.”

* _I love you, Mr Spock.*_

_*I lo-*_

_***_


	9. Slack Water

_Each transporter sequence is like I’m dying, I’m dead, then been resurrected without ever being reborn_.

She hates transporters now.

She left with a medical tricorder, a medbag, a communicator, a phaser, a few extra hairpins and a hair tie. She’s brought all that back and..she’s not sure what.

She’s aware, now, of the others here. Would’ve been more, but McCoy discouraged them. They had no way to know what state she would arrive in; their greetings could wait until she’d been thoroughly examined.

“Christine, you are well?”

“Yes, Spock. If you call tired, bitter, and nauseous ‘well’.” Dark circles under her blue eyes said so.

“There is much to discuss, Christine.”

“There always is, sir,” she’s in no mood.

“Chris, say hello and goodbye. We’re going to sickbay now.” McCoy swoops in before Captain Kirk can catch her up in a hug.

“Great to have ya back, Chris.” Jim smiles as she’s led off. Looking his way over her shoulder, she gives him the best happy smile she can muster.

“I know, Len.” her elbow in his hand they file out of the transporter room to sickbay. She reclines on the biobed, Spock standing a little way off on the right of the monitor.

McCoy is unusually silent out of deference to her fatigue and her privacy. He won’t send Spock away because she wants him here, he thinks.

Also, Spock can’t see what McCoy can see with the portable scanner. She or someone has used the regenerator; while he wants a hyperencephalogram now, he wants to get her off to sleep first.

“Chris, you’re sleep deprived, and you’re also suffering from a combination of other things I won’t discuss with you right now. Unless you want to.” She shakes her head.

His gaze is tender and fraught with the unspoken. She blinks significantly to him and he nods very slightly, affirmation.

“I want you to sleep no less than eight hours, you’ll need to stay confined for ten hours total, which means I want you to get washed up, eat and hydrate before and after. The catch is you have to be accompanied at all times. You can sleep here, or Spock can agree to stay with you the entirety of the time which starts the moment you leave the biobed.”

Christine stares at the wall opposite. The word ‘confined’ has set off something within her. 

He turns to Spock. “I’ve already spoken to Jim, I didn’t drop your name just so you know.”

Spock nods. McCoy turns to Christine. “Ball’s in your court, lil lady.”

“If it’s alright with Mr Spock to keep an eye, I’d rather be confined to quarters.” She was too far gone to consider Spock’s comfort in the situation.

“Mr Spock,” he hands Spock a small opaque bag, “these hypos have a mixture of vitamins, minerals and supplements...anti-nausea, a light dose of sedatives. She’s counteracting the affects of a-“

“Psi-suppressant, Doctor. I did suspect..” Spock left the implications hang.

“..and other things, sedatives...we’ll discuss that later, Spock,” he looks back at the kit.

“One injection every three hours. If you need to leave quarters, comm me first. You’d better be back within fifteen minutes or else Chris will be brought back here.”

”Comm me from quarters when you two arrive. Make sure she eats and drinks plenty of water. Make sure she sleeps at least eight hours, and remains in quarters for at least ten hours. Comm me when ten hours have passed, but if she’s still sleeping, let her.”

McCoy would have sent him along with a tricorder too, but-. “Christine, I think it’s a good idea if Spock scans your vitals every hour or so. What do you think?” her eyes widen for a moment then go placid. “Probably a good idea, Len.”

She gets off the biobed and heads towards the double doors, Spock takes the lead and she follows him off down the corridors to...his quarters.

After the doors close, he sets the tricorder and hypos in the top drawer of his desk. “Christine,” he takes tan robe meant to keep the wearer cool, “if you like?”

He lays the robe across his bunk.

“While you rest I am going to meditate and work at the desk. You should eat.” He nods towards the replicator then goes to the intercom.

“Dr. McCoy, we have arrived.”

“Acknowledged. Check in later. McCoy out.”

She’s sitting down with vegetable soup and bread, and a mug of tea. Her hands are shaky as she spoons soup to her lips. Spock joins her with a dark stew and tea. They eat in silence, both feeling the weight of the unspoken upon them.

Christine is lost in her own thoughts wondering what fresh or familiar hell has followed her back here, what has that other Chris done here while she was trapped elsewhere.

She’s struggling with a horrible sense of history repeating itself, aside from the sickbay visit on the way. She drops her fork and clamps her hands around her tea mug.

“Christine?” he’s staring at her hands.

“It’s ok, just jetlag or something,” she looks back down as she picks up her spoon despite the shaking.

Spock doubts it’s jetlag, but keeps his counsel.

Someone is buzzing for entry. Spock goes to the double doors and meets them there.

It’s McCoy with a small pack. “Just in case, there’s sedatives, and other stuff I thought should be near her.”

They step into the empty corridor.

“Spock, she got a dose of radiation as she materialised over there, and whatever was done to her, at least the stuff I can trace...I can make inferences from. The psi-suppressants, some I can’t talk about, others too I just need lab confirms first.”

Spock clenches his fists as he scans the corridor. “I believe I know why psi-suppressant was used,” his eyes dark with negative emotion.

“I need to get back. Expect anything, don’t let your guard down, Spock.”

“Good night, Doctor.” 

Stepping back into his quarters and placing the pack in the top drawer of his wardrobe, he sees her grimly contemplating her spoonful of soup she holds as it vibrates over the bowl.

“Spock did you step out for a moment?” she asks without looking away from the spoon.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because...I don’t know, I heard the buzzer go off.”

She’s still focussed on the spoon.

“Christine, try to finish your meal. I will get water.” he steps off towards the chiller and returns with a cool bottle of water and places it near her.

He clears up his side of the table, then intending to meditate after Christine is sleeping, changes into his robe in the washroom, leaving the door ajar.

She’s choking back one more spoonful as he crosses the room to his terminal, setting the doorlock so that she cannot leave without his approval.

“Can you eat more bread?”

She slaps her hand on the table and glares at him. “No, Spock! If I could have don’t think I would’ve?!”

He sighs, picking up her tray. “I did not intend to pressure you, only to encourage. But you must drink water.”

He puts the trays, utensils and his cup in the fresher then goes back to the desk, unsure of how to handle the situation.

She’s staring at her hands, her eyes glistening with the beginning of tears. “Spock, I’m sorry. I should have stayed in sickbay.” She is drinking the water little by little.

“It will be easy now that your meal is finished,” he says. He chooses to sit for a moment. “You have nothing to apologise for, just do those things Doctor McCoy said for you to do.”

“Spock, I want to take a quick shower but I need to leave the door to the washroom open,” she looks up, embarrassed by her request, she needs to see that this is ok.

If he found this strange, his behaviour doesn’t tell. “I will sit at the desk and face away.”

Now that they’ve defined their spatial relationship to each other temporarily, they go off on their separate ways.

Minutes later, she comes out. “All clear.”

He is on the other side of the grille, “Acknowledged.” During her time in the shower, he’s moved the pack McCoy gave him from the wardrobe into the top drawer of his desk alongside the other containing the hypo prescriptions where he can lock them in.

He takes the first hypo now, fetches another bottle of water and sets them on the shelf behind the bunk, and turns back the covers. She’s in the lounge chair absentmindedly combing through her brunette hair with her fingers.

“While you are sleeping, I will be just over there on the other side of the desk, in meditation.” she crosses to the bunk and lies down on her side facing him. He presses the hypo into her arm.

“Spock, you are a good man and what’s happened and whatever happens isn’t your fault.” she’s staring off toward the room divider.

“You have never assigned blame to me, Christine. Sleep well,” he lingers as her eyelids fight a losing battle against the meds. He pulls the sheet over her torso, and leaves the duvet pulled back.

He wants to take a shower, but considers it best to wait.

Quietly, he retrieves the tricorder from the desk drawer and sets it to silent mode. He pads back to the far side his bunk, behind her, and runs a scan.

In shock, he almost drops the tricorder. He stares at the back of her head as he keeps himself still.

After a few moments, calming himself, he walks to the other side of the divider, sits down and rests his elbows on the desk. His tidy, well-ordered world suddenly seems as vulnerable as a sandcastle facing an incoming tide.

His head in his hands, he waits for a while longer until he hears a change in Christine’s breathing patterns.

It is time to meditate.

/———————-/


	10. Dodge Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mirror Spock stalks Chapel across universes.

_I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;_

_I fled Him, down the arches of the years;_

_I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways_

_Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears_

_I hid from Him, and under running laughter._

—Francis Thompson, _The Hound of Heaven_

**ISS Enterprise**

* _Christine_?*

“...Journeys end in lovers meeting..” she’s mumbling some half-mangled Vulcan endearment, and fleshy bobbles?

Spock, hearing her restless, slips around the divider and sits in the lounge chair.

Time for her next injection soon anyway.

He sits rapt in fascination. She’s in conversation with something. Her eyelids pressed tight, her lips parted slightly, mouthing words he couldn’t hear.

* _Yes, Aduna_.*

* _Captain_ _Spock_?*

* _I took precautions, Beloved._ *

* _You’re confusing me. I need to sleep.*_

* _Yes, you need rest. Later, you will need me to shepherd our new life. I have a task for you. If you refuse, your life as you know it now will end. If you refuse the call-.*_

If she keeps her eyes closed, she won’t see Captain Spock floating like a spectre at her bedside.

* _Spock?! I need to sleep_.*

_*I need to speak to you. Later, when you are alone. I have a gift for you.*_

* _What on earth are you talking about?_

* _You are mine_.*

“I am not yours!” she hisses.

Alarmed, Spock moves to stroke her hair.

Undone, she screams.

He pins her arms down and whispers soothingly. He covers her legs with his body to prevent her kicking.

“Christine, shhh.”

“No! Stop!”

“Christine, you had a dream that upset you.”

A measure of clarity returns to her. She goes limp, eyes bright with tears, face pale flushed pink.

He can feel her heart race under him. She stares into his chest. Tears fall from either side of her temples into her hair.

Gradually he loosens his hold and lifts up from her, pausing to stroke her tears and lift her chin. 

“What has happened? You must tell me if you want me to help you. I will keep your confidences as long as you let me help you.”

“Spock, you can’t keep certain secrets from medical.”

“Yes, if I think you are beyond my help. I am referring to your dreams. You were talking to him in your dream, were you not?”

She gazes at him with her blue tear filled eyes, a sad smile for him and for her, because she fears she’s lost him. Needs him to be lost to her forever. Yes. It’s better this way. She can protect him from if she lets him go.

“I wasn’t sleeping. I woke up when he started speaking to me in my mind. Oh, Spock,” she squeezes her lids tight; the tears sting now, “he won’t ever give up. There’s no telling what he’s done to me the last twenty fours I was on that ship...what he put in me, what he may have done to my mind.”

“What did he say earlier. In here?”

“Spock, it’s safer if you stay away from me, or he’ll-“

“What! Did he tell you?” He slides his fingers through hers.

“He said,” she takes a quick breath and looks past him, “he said he kept me with him, and that I was his..and he called me ‘aduna’. And..that if I don’t do what he tells me to do, my life is over.”

He blanches, “He made you his wife?”

She blinks, refocusses on his eyes, “I have no memory of marrying him or doing anything else with him. I don’t know.”

She sobs reflexively, he steps down from the bed and away. He returns with a tissue and hands it to her.

He sits forward in the lounge chair, elbows rest on his thighs, fingers steepled.

“We have no way of knowing it was really him in your mind.”

She accepts this. “I know, but he told me something else,” her eyes have a faraway look as she casts back her memory to the conversation.

“I told him I needed to sleep, and he agreed, that it was ‘early, but later ‘I would need him to shepherd our new life” she frowns slightly.

“I know how it can be interpreted,” she shrugs.

“Christine, you are pregnant,” he lifts an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should work on your health for the sake of the child.” He scrutinises her.

“If that Spock intends to disrupt your sleeping patterns, the link, or bond, must be removed.”

“Who knows what he did with me, Spock?”

Hers is a sad smile of resignation.

“You are attempting to confront what-if’s..,” he says. She yawns. He casts her a withering glance,“..despite being unable to think clearly.”

“After the next injection, I will stay with you. You will attempt sleep, or you will go to sickbay.”

Their eyes lock in stare down. She blinks first.

“Ok, but what if-“

“Christine, no.” She waits several seconds to speak-. ‘No’ he mouths. He raises his finger to his lips, “Shhhh.”

She laughs, sighs as she sits up and scoots back against the pillow.

He gives her the injection, sets a second hypo with sedative on the shelf behind the head of the bunk.

“If you need the facilities, do it now.” he says as he smooths the covers first before turning them back.

She pads off then returns a few moments later. She drinks several swigs of water, then climbs under the covers.

“If he wakes you, I need to monitor the dialogue. Sleep well.”

Later, she’s in the midst of a dream:

....She watches as images flow across a screen of night sky from left to right;

....She sees herself in the lab, content in research, a glowing smile for a passing ensign as she greets her;

....She sees life within her grow, as she reaches, finally! her own personal era of joy and warm contentment. A time she will look back fondly upon years and years later, when youth has passed;

....Image after image pass, fragments of a future she hopes will come to pass;

....Until one. A dark scene, possibly landscape, pierced by bright flashes of light and clouds; there, on the left in midground, they’ve died. All that brilliance and light is gone. Her Spock lies there dead. In a dream.

....She clamps her hand to her mouth to muffle her scream.

Fade to black; she’s falling, back into sleepless wakelessness, no time to rationalise the disturbing image away. She’s suspended for awhile, unable to wake or sleep.

* _Christine, listen! Your fear and misinterpretation of my intentions are irrelevant. I have privileged information about events happening in the near future that will affect you, Beloved.*_

* _Secure these items:*_

**Here followed a short list of items that could be scrounged from any freighter yard, save for one that would require special modification, and most likely need to be got off the black market.

* _Complete these tasks after you have finished step one:*_

**Here followed common maintenance, calibration and testing procedures. One step would require a skilled confidante.

* _Peace and Prosperity, Christine_ *

** _Images of Spock, Captain of the ISS Enterprise, unlocking a great iron door set in a medieval castle. Christine, dressed like some faery tale princess, emerging from within, shielding her eyes from the light as she steps away from her prison. He climbs upon his steed, wheels, and rides away off into the haze.**_

She feels herself floating downwards now, back into her body.

....And into the waking world. She turns to gaze at him, _her_ Spock, in seeming peaceful slumber.

 _ No, he’s not mine. One day, maybe. _ _...If he’s never mine, that’s ok too. I need good friends more than I want lovers. _

Whether or not she believes the prophecy, she’s anxious that she doesn’t forget the details, so she meticulously recalls each item and step given several times. She will record and encrypt them later.

She scooches a little closer to him. One cloud seems to have passed. She can sleep now, but resolves to get well as soon as possible. She has work to do.

Before sleep fully claims her, she wonders where in seven Romulan hells is she going to score a quantum pattern buffer?


	11. Ebb Current

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little vignette. Chapel is starting to feel normal again, despite that cloud that hangs over her head which any fleeting happiness can’t burn off.

"You have a very light case of theta radiation poisoning. Since you've said all you did there was walked from transporter room to quarters and back, that leaves the most likely source: a leaky biomatter filter under the pad you stood on."

McCoy administers a hypo. "Hyronalin." She smirks.

"Might help you feel better to give me hyronalin."

"You'll laugh if your hair falls out and you glow in the dark." McCoy grins.

"If you're gonna stand and stare at me, offer a girl a cup of coffee first." Chapel holds out her palm.

"Done. One sec."Moments later hands her a steaming mug.

"Mmmm," she inhales the scent, eyes closed. "Thanks."

"Your hyperencephalogram," gesturing towards an image he's just pulled up.

"Here, here, and here. Late at night doing whatever I don't need to know about when you should've been sleeping. The unusual nature of your type of connection with him is a concern. Vulcans in your head is a concern. When are you going to evict him?"

She scowls, "When I'm sure I want to close my connection to that universe, dad. Don't be naive, I'm a scientist. Anyway, they're not going to disappear just because I bury my head in the sand."

What she doesn't tell McCoy is that she's afraid to lose her link to mirror Spock.

"Since you claim you expect activity to more or less cease, we will compare grams again in a month or if there's another incident."

"My prescription is to stop seeing him. Give him back his ring." McCoy ducks as an empty container flies towards his head.

"Really? The man--yes I said man--ok, Vulcan--impregnates you without your consent? What's his angle?" He wants to shake her.

"Who knows, Len?" She shrugs,"It's done. I can't have him brought up on rape charges; I'm not gonna sit around wringing my hands over it."

"Very well then. The psi-suppressant shouldn't be a concern anymore. Ditto the birth control inhibitor. Traces of other drugs we found, the lab results weren't conclusive."

They huddle over a few more test results, discuss the obvious and possible reasons for leftover regenerator traces, then on to her pregnancy.

The unasked question regards the father and doesn't bear thinking about. When McCoy thinks 'father of her child', he thinks of Mr Spock. He didn't sire the child on Christine, but he may as well have.

She's given the usual load of vitamins and minerals, then sent back to quarters for an hour after stopping at the dispensary to pick up meds.

/---------------------------------/

She's in sickbay going through paperwork when he walks in.

"Mr Spock!"

"Have you eaten?"

"No, of course not. And neither've you."

"Then shall we?"

"I need a few a minutes, if you can wait?"

He nods, sees McCoy in his office and wanders in.

"Mr Spock. Been quiet too long around here." He studies the Vulcan and wonders.

"I am waiting to share a meal with Nurse Chapel," he answers the obvious.

"How is it you're so comfortable around her the last six months?"

"I was never uncomfortable on my behalf. I was concerned about how rumours might affect her working relationships with other crewmembers.”

"She neither offers nor expects anything of me," he nods as he turns to go back to her and leaves McCoy with no room to retort.

"Ready?" she smiles to him as she gets up from the desk.

A nod and a heel pivot towards the exit says yes, so she follows him out the doors.

Entering the dining hall activates a strange little ritual. Self-appointed gatekeepers note time of entry, who they're with, proximity, how they carry themselves, how relaxed they seem, contents on their trays, table location and seating relationships at the table. At the minimum.

The morning Dr Chapel spent chatting to Kirk still provides grist to keep the gears of starship rumour mills grinding cheerfully.

Chapel, conflated with mirror Chapel, has been the talk of the ship for days, despite the Nurse being so distracted with her own problems, it appeared to the outside that she carried herself with proud indifference.

As she does now, her head held high, raised to her full height. Straight of back, shoulder and neck. Spock owns his graceful aristocratic bearing, half a head taller than his companion.

They cut a fine couple, in the classic sense, as they stroll to the far side of the hall and sit across from one another.

Later, takes the last bite of fish taco, then wipes the sauce from the corner of her mouth. After she finishes wiping her hands. Taking a sip of lemonade, she looks across the table. He's down to his tea now, gazing back.

"Would you like to join the captain and myself in the Rec Room after dinner? It would not be considered rude if you brought a few padds along, Christine."

"Sure, I can't promise how long I'll stay."

"I will see you there."

They dropped off their trays and down the corridor until their paths split.

/------------—————————————————/

"Chris! How was your lunch date?" Len dropped the hook.

"Oh. You know. You pick up your food and drink, sit down and eat, with occasional small talk interspersed. Just got back from unauthorised leave to another dimension. Not much shop to talk about."

"Shop?! Speaking of shopping.."

"I've got more important fish to fry first."

...𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔...

"Anything I can help with?" Len offers.

"Believe me, I wish you could."

"We're leaving orbit in two days. We may get a day or two of R and R."

"Love to do some outdoor market shopping.”

"Don't wanna get your hopes up, Chris. But yeah it'd likely be on Starbase Two.

"Nice gesture if true. Girl's day and night out." She notices the chrono just then.

"Back to work.”

/---------------------------------/

Chris walks into the Rec Room, wearing khaki trousers and blouse, carrying a messenger bag.

She nods to the two officers as she passes, grabbing a small table behind them. She can chat without yelling, or lose herself in journals.

Ny and Jan wander over, pulling up an extra chair. Ny starts in first.

"We thought some alien sex slave prison got hold of you, Chris! Then you're sequestered here for days after rehab and reintegration."

She sends Ny the eyeroll.

"They couldn't afford to keep me in the style to which I've become accustomed."

Her smile is radiant for her two best friends.

"How are my two favourite girls? Mama missed her moneymakers!"

"I spent all the money I owe you on smoked sleestacks," Jan tells her with a pout. The whimsy does Chris in, and she’s out for awhile nursing her sides ‘til she stops laughing.

They're keeping their voices lower than normal because they know the ignoble exchange is being overheard.

Their silly banter is always worthy of giggle fits on the cheap.

"Girl, I left you for another. If you don't work, you don't eat," Ny lowers her head and peers through long lashes at Chris in mock disapproval.

They cut loose with more uncontrollable laughter, and Mr Spock gives them that long-suffering look while Kirk chuckles at his friend’s expressions.

Kirk regards the three officers with affection then turns to Spock. "They're priming up for Star Base Two. No one is safe."

Another ripple of laughter, then Jan and Ny scoot in closer to the table. Chris gives up research journals and puts her bag under the table.

They catch her up on local gossip, then plan where they'll go and what they'll do on Star Base Two.

She's stayed longer than expected. Sulu, Checkov and Scotty wave at them from the other side of the chessboard. They've sneaked to a table closer since word went round that the Enterprise' most notorious trio were back together.

There's rustling and scraping of chairs as one by one crew retire back to quarters.

Chris reaches under the table and grabs her bag, then starts towards the doors after wishing goodnights. Down the corridor, her footfalls echo. Spock is walking beside her.

"Sneakthief."

"Madam."

"You caught that?"

Her face is red, but she knew it all along.

"Of course."

"A little girl's night out banter."

"I see. And how did you attain your position of authority?"

"My height, my title as Nurse."

She doesn't think it a great idea to go into more detail about slumber party roleplay customs.

They're in her quarters now.

She lays her bag under the desk against the bulkhead, and removes her canvas shoes. Off come the socks and-. Relief. He's undressing too.

She strips down to underclothes, dumps them off on the way to the shower. Water this time, hot as she can stand it. Stepping into the stall, she makes room for him as he grabs the shampoo.

He lathers her hair, then rinses it. Then with soap, he rubs the soap against her skin from top to bottom. She finishes lathering herself below her torso, then rinses her hair again, working the soap off down to her feet.

She repeats these motions for him. Neither are ready to stare at or fondle each other.

The time of falling tangled limbs pressed in need against the other will come.

They towel one another dry and step out of the stall.

They're at the sink, brushing teeth and smoothing cream over pink cheeks; now she's in the other room readying the bunk. A bottle of water is set within reach at each side at behind the headboard.

She takes the side closest to the washroom, he sinks down on the other.

They fit and press their bodies together, where they can relax in comfort, mindful of the width of the bunk. Lights dimmed, heat turned up. She loves him just like this: him allowing her to indulge in care for him.

They've hurried from the Rec Room, through the doors to the shower to the bunk, just to reach this state: where neither will stop to ask themselves or the other if this is ok? Is this what you want too?

Moments later, they’re drifting off to sleep.


	12. Pattern Buffer Trafficking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people caught up in something they don’t understand risk losing everything over a dream prophecy

_Through me is the way into the woeful city,_

_Through me is the way into eternal woe,_

_Through me is way among the Lost People. -_ Dante, “Inferno”

 **Morning, USS Enterprise**

Christine's thoughts wander as she muddles through late morning sickbay tasks.

She needs to draw Commander Spock aside and tell him about the dream Captain Spock sent her. She predicts it will not go smoothly, but the dream involves him. He has a right to know and decide how to react. 

If she waits, they will have lost the advantage of two days.

Reaching a decision, she locks down her station in sick bay. She announces she's going to lunch to no one in particular.

She scans the dining hall before she picks up her tray. He's over there, where they shared lunch yesterday. She smiles briefly as he looks up. His eyes smile in return. 

"This seat taken, Mr Spock?" 

"It would not seem so, Nurse Chapel."

"Had a very interesting dream a few nights ago. I think you should know about it," she says.

She's brought a padd, which she scans for topics of interest as she eats.

"When are you going to tell me about the dream?" he asks.

"Later, when you can view it in my memories. Botany, or somewhere else private." 

"And not our quarters?" He prefers the most intimate of settings in case he experiences an emotional transfer during the session.

"I don't want to associate negative parts of the dream with our living spaces." 

"That bad?" He stops what he's doing, waits on her.

No time like the present. "Yes. There are images meant to represent near-future events. In one, your body is visible. It's been a few days and the shock hasn't wore off."

"And you are certain this was not another nightmare? You were very distraught," he asks.

"Yes, I'm sure of at least the source of the images. As for their veracity, I need your help to evaluate."

They decide to meet in Botany at 1900 hours.

  
  
~0~  
  


In Botany section, they spend the evening on a bench away from entrances and prying eyes.

"Give me your thoughts." Commander Spock is ready to review a dream Christine had several days ago, a dream she believes was induced in her mind by Captain Spock, of the ISS Enterprise. 

His fingers are raised. She leans slightly forwards, and Commander Spock presses into her mind.

_Commander Spock reviews the dream sequences of images as she saw them in her dream, against a night sky. One by one, the scenes slide by. The death scene slides into view._

_He is able to slow the scene down and inspect it more closely. He ascertains that the figure is indeed meant to represent him._

_He looks for other clues. The body lay at the bottom of a sheer rust-coloured rock face. He notes the geography, vegetation, and any other geographical features. When he is satisfied, he lets the memory go._

_This is the point where, days ago, Christine was drifting out of the dream and becoming more awake. Captain Spock had interrupted her waking process just before she reached the state where she would have been able to move voluntarily._

_Commander Spock now views Christine's memory of this last sequence of her fading dream, reviews the "file" that his counterpart, Captain Spock, left her._

_The "file" contains information on preparing device that is supposed to prevent Commander Spock from dying at the base of that rock in approximately a year from now._

_Commander Spock commits every detail of her dream and dream file to memory, then gently removes his presence from Christine's mind_.

"Do you think it's real? The death image?" Chris asks.

"The death image appears to be genuine. There are no artefacts of induced memories or signatures of compression. I will meditate on the image later but for now we will assume that the threat is real." _It is real. I will explain to her later._

"What about the earlier memories?"

"What of them? Do you wish to prevent those from happening?"

"No, I just-. I wondered if the images appeared genuine and how someone would've got them off the Enterprise, Spock."

"An entity with technology to remote view the future will be able to record those images."

"I have not evaluated the earlier images closely. I will do so later." More to appease her.

"How do you think Captain Spock get hold of them?" 

"I do not know. Perhaps you should ask him." 

She bites back a retort. She knows as much as he does about Captain Spock's ability to harness advanced technology.

"I would presume he knows someone who has access. It is not the how that I am focussing on, it is the why."

"Instead of giving a time, date and location to avoid, Captain Spock suggests using technology to guarantee that there is another version of me. Implying that the event is unavoidable, or that avoiding death at the rock may incur worse consequences later on the timeline?,” Spock ponders.

"Another possibility is that I am in trapped in a time a loop. As if I have already attempted to avoid the event multiple times."

Christine's mood deteriorates at his mention of time loop.

"Mr Spock, this device or devices. The getting of them."

"You will not be procuring or modifying this equipment, Miss Chapel. It is highly illegal to modify or utilise these systems for these purposes."

"Mr Spock, I have some idea of the deadline. After the child is born the event happens. These contraptions will be in place and ready before then,” her blood runs cold. 

"What do you intend to do if they are not?" he asks. She threw iced water down his back with her words.

She is holding herself so tightly against her resolution, she can barely breathe. She keeps her eyes locked on his. 

"Mr Spock." She takes a breath. "The only thing I have. My life." 

_This isn’t going to work. I shouldn’t have told him. I’ve backed myself into a corner._

He is staring at her as if she's grown two heads. 

"You would use your life as leverage in order to coerce me to into making a choice that is rightly mine to make?!"

"Yes." _Breathe, Chris.._

"The child?" His expression is fierce. 

"...would be in no state to survive pregnancy after I will have worried myself sick for months. The child goes with me."

His expression grows darker. He is being manipulated. _She is bluffing. I feel sick._

"I--don't want to do that..take life. Don't you understand? I can't lose you this way! This isn’t a terminal illness or like giving your life for your crewmates because it’s the only alternative. You have a year!" 

"Tell me now. That you won't build the device." Tears are running down her cheeks, but she hasn't the will to sob. “Tell me, Spock. I can’t do this for you, you won’t let me.”

He turns to look at her. "Where will you go?" He puts his hand gently over hers, sensing her discreetly.

_She is not bluffing._

_If she leaves—no—If I let her leave, she will die._

"Christine?"

_If I let her leave, I will lose her._

"Spock. Your answer." 

_Let her die. I am weary of games. No.._

In shock, he reaches out to her and she flinches. "Spock," she is turning away,"I love you." She shifts to stand up. He is losing her.

.... _my unborn child(!). I will do this for her. I am broken._

He stops her getting up. 

Off balance, she's forced to sit back down. "Christine, if I let you walk away from me now, where will you be in the morning?" 

_Cold._ “Sleeping.” _Dead. “_ Alone.”

"And if I give in to you this time, you will threaten me with your life again? Make my decision for me?” _She has broke me._

She considers. The situation is unique. Once the devices are in hand, she will ensure that she has a pattern of him on standby, somehow.

"No." she answers. 

"How are you so certain?"

"Because I will have taken precautions." she says.

She does not lie. She does not tell him what he wants to hear. His expression softens.  
"I will have the equipment gathered." He sighs and wills tension out of him.

She begins to relax, wipes a tear from her eye.

"I will 'take precautions' too." He lowers his voice. "We will both go to prison for a very long time if we are caught. I will remove the memory of the the devices from your mind."

She scoots away. "No, Mr Spock."

"Miss Chapel," he slides closer, "is it that you do not trust me? Tell me now that you do not trust me, and you may walk out of an airlock for all I care." _I do care. My control is shattered._

She will do this for him. 

"I trust you, Spock." She closes her eyes. 

_She feels his warm fingers on her temples again. She sees that he's only removing the "file," the "file" holds her knowledge of the transporter, replicator and other special components required to store the pattern of a person in buffer indefinitely._

_He is looking for something else, pauses when he finds it: Her resolve. What she would’ve done if she’d walked away. How she would have done. He does not find the knowing pleasant._

He withdraws from her mind. Her eyes flash. 

"I did not give you permission to test the firmness of my resolve using that meld," she snaps. 

He looks down, "I beg forgiveness, I should have asked. I had to know.  
I almost let you walk away. I almost lost you." _I need the mind rules. She has broke me._

She takes his hand, puts her other on top of his. She’s ready to move on.

"Spock, how long do you think it will take to know if everything works?"

"I will send a message when I'm back in quarters. Everything should be ready for us to test in 1.5 to 2.0 months." _We are criminals the moment I press send._

He continues, avoiding common nomenclature or technical terms for the components, "I will request six 'souljars,' three for me and three for you."

The ‘souljars’ are pattern buffers. Using pattern buffers to beam a transporter pattern of an individual who is now deceased back to life is forbidden. Such an act transcends the term ‘illegal’.

Christine feels a tingling of greed. The more souljars they prepare, the more times they can 'reboot' themselves, as they are now, still in the bloom of their youths.

He senses her thoughts.

"You now have an idea why this is so insidious, Christine. There is nothing to be gained by living multiple lifetimes. Three for each of us is more than enough." 

"One for me, one for you. The others are failsafes," he says. 

_We will pretend we will not use the failsafes when the others are spent._

"But what if you use one souljar next year?" 

"Then, I would have you with me for most of my life, Christine." He leans in to kiss her gently on her cheek. 

He urges her up from their bench so they can go to the closest thing they have to a home here. 

Back in his quarters, while Christine showers, he finishes preparing his message. He hesitates.

He considers the evening. The season of hesitation is over. He sends the message. 


	13. Horse Latitudes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff before stuff goes angst-wards again.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐑&𝐑

  
Jan, Ny and Chris stroll the concourse darting in and out of shops. 

Chris looks for clothing and jewellry with leave-taking in mind and what Spock might find pleasing.

They swarm a stand studded with brand name ladies' accessories, most of which she suspects are Andorian copies. She doesn't mind a well-made copy, but nothing catches her eye.

Jan haggles for a black GalWa evening purse; its tag says it's made from the hide of choice Teklarian yearlings. Chris shakes her head, it's clearly adult hide of some cow-like creature. 

Jan pays, and they stream back into the traffic flow, pass several more shops, until they reach Frederic's of Risa. The ritual is to inspect the window dressing then step into the shop, making a counter-clockwise circuit.

Chris ponders her relationship with Spock. They're not yet lovers. Both revel in the slow burn. 

She'd rather belong to him first in some way the external world recognises on first sight. There it is, however irrational.

She shakes her head again and concentrates.

She finds a violet teddy with garter and leggings. Nice colour, it's too much though. She sees an aqua blue silk regency gown. Nice, a matching Spencer jacket! She files the set away for later. She won't be wearing it on Vulcan, Spock has told her Amanda will insist on taking her shopping. 

*Hurry up, Chris! Her friends will be on benches waiting if she doesn't move.

Scanning, her gaze falls on a mulberry short lace trim silk robe and dressing gown, and an embroidered pale blue silk robe and gown set. She chooses both, and continues her sweep.

The peach Edwardian silk and lace peignoir dressing gown. She takes it down and drapes it over the other two on her arm and heads to the clerk. 

She will need someone to carry her purchases if this keeps up.  
She takes the three neatly wrapped rectangular parcels out of the shop and waits on her friends.

"You are enjoying your 'spa day'?" as he sits next to her.

"Mr Spock!" she shrieks. "How long have you been here?"

"Approximately fifteen point eight minutes, Miss Chapel."

They are deliberately formal in public by default. It feels right to them.

"Waiting on Ny and Jan." She gazes back at the shop. " Tempted to take another look. I can come back." She glances at her dresses. Spock reaches out and gathers them from her.

"I will take these," he nods towards the lingerie shop. "Your friends may need your help."

She chuckles. Spock is versed in the ways of women shopping together.

She smiles to him. "Thank you. We're eating dinner at the New Orleans 1830. Join us?"

"I will mention it to Kirk. If he agrees he will no doubt tell Scotty and McCoy, who will then tell Sulu.." He marvels at the efficiency of the grapevine. 

Laughing, she smiles goodbye and walks back into the shop. Those two should be nearly done in the time she's spent chatting to Spock. 

Jan's almost to the clerk's counter, but she's distracted by jewellry in a display case strategically in the path leading to. 

Ny is nowhere in sight, but she's short and likely to be hidden by the islands of display racks. 

She wants hair bands. She will wear her hair up on Vulcan. She starts to the right of Jan, small stuff was traditionally placed near the watchful eye of the clerks. 

"Jan, did you see any pretty hair combs?" Rand lifts her head. "Come to think of it, no. See Ny anywhere?" 

"There she is." Chris points towards the dressing rooms. 

"Finally," Jan says, waving at her friend.

Chris wanders to the counter, looks up and down, finds hair accessories to the left. She sees two she wants at first glance; in tortoise and cobalt blue impossibly thin glass-like material. 

She spots a comb in amber and decides against the tortoise. That one--suggests aged ivory or bone, nicely polished. 

She waves a shop assistant over.  
"Hi, I'd like these. I'll take the one in tortoise too."

After the transaction, she inspects the items on display in her path back to Jan and Ny. She's done here. 

The fun is seeing what the others chose.

Ny's grin is wicked. "What'd you get, Chris?" 

"Silk dressing gowns and hair combs." 

"You don't wear underwear?" Ny asks.

Here we go. "Why?"

"Go get silk lacy underwear and bra sets, Chris," Ny winks. "Over there in the middle. Five steps."

Chris snorts but obeys her friend. She knows what's coming. 

She chooses black, mauve, and copper. She doesn't need to try them on, her eye for sizing is sufficient. 

Three minutes later they're all at the counter again. Ny snatches a parcel from the clerk's hands.

"Too late, Ny. Saw that," Jan smirks. She's going to interrogate her friends later at dinner. Ny puts her hand on her hip, tilts her head forward and glowers at her. 

Teasingly, Chris asks "What'd you get, Jan." 

"A teddy, a garter and some bright neon panty hose," she replies. 

"Mmhmm. What else?" 

"None of your business that's what," Jan laughs. “Wait until dinner.”

Chris' eyes widen as she puts her hand over mouth. She saw the 'massage stick' in Jan's basket earlier, with articles strategically draped over it and around it. 

She'll drop it for now, until Jan gets too cocky.

She sees cream-coloured silk ballet slippers she'd missed. She grabs a pair. Sighing, she tells the other two she'll meet them outside in five minutes.

"Jewellry shopping's a bust, and it's almost 1734," Chris mutters as she joins her crewmates outside.

"Have Spock take you jewellry shopping," Jan suggests. 

"It's a little too early for that."

"Bullshit. You two have been joined at the hip for six months,"  
Jan checks the corner of her eyes in her compact for mascara globs. 

"Our hips are the last place we're joined," Chris says, wishing she hadn't. "Let's walk anyway." 

They debate tipping one of the ensigns to run their shopping back. 

"Let's just start walking back towards the ship." Ny suggests as she takes out a personal communicator "I'll reserve a table for us."

~0~

  
No time for changing into evening wear, they march back through Starbase Two until they reach their restaurant. 

"Party of three. Uhura."

"This way, madam."

They're led to a booth to the left of the bar with a viewport. 

Chris checks her menu in between glancing at the tables around the restaurant.

"Looking for someone?" Jan asks.

"Not particularly, although it's no secret we're here."

"Yeah. About half the Enterprise will cram in here now." Jan closes the menu, already decided.

"Oh, like you didn't casually mention where we were having dinner where the right people would hear, Jan." Chris is trying to choose between the Gumbo, Caesar Salad with 'Soup Special' or the suspect 'Catch of the Day'.

Their drinks having arrived, their orders given, they sip and glance around expectantly. Apparently all three of them told someone where they were eating dinner. 

A shadowy mass darkens the entrance, and the host points back at their table. The boys are here. The booth on either side of them and the table closest mysteriously left vacant--Ny's handiwork, no doubt. 

There's a cacaphony of hollow thuds as men in boots or similar footwear file into one of the booths; Spock, Scotty, Kirk and McCoy take the table across the aisle from them. 

Of course the officers at the table are still in uniform.

Chris grows pensive, feels that the days of this easy camaraderie she's had with this crew will soon be part of her past forever. 

Spa days with Ny and Jan, ending in dinner at a bar. The men crashing the party. The pranks, the gossip, the laughter. The music and dancing. The next day.

Her salad arrives. They order another round of drinks.

She grins to herself as she hears a snippet of Spock and McCoy's banter, audible over the hubbub coming from the booth behind her.

Taking a bite of her salad, she mentally 'shoos' her mood away. She's right back in her reverie.

The mission isn't nearly over; short-timer's talk hasn't begun yet--surely the herald of a crew that know they'll soon be put ashore. Two years left. Sounds like a long time, doesn't it? 

*Except you've forgot about the baby,* her mindvoice says.

She leans her forehead into her hand. 

Ny and Jan are too quietly eating their dinners too, as if her mood is rubbing off on them. 

McCoy slides in next to Chris, plate and drink in hand. Chris lifts her head from her hand and looks over.  
He's concerned. She smiles. 

"I'm ok, Len. Just thinking about leave-taking." 

"What're you two thinking?" He looks across the table.

"Enjoying our dinner," Ny says.

"Been hearing some talk about what people are planning when Star Fleet evicts us." 

"Little early, don't you think?"

"No, if you think about it, this is early start admissions for Star Fleet."

"Just hit me when I was sitting there that we've got two more years of this," he looks over at the table and up, "of R & R stories, shore leaves shared watching the sun set somewhere, patching the crew up afterwards." He looks straight ahead at nothing in particular.

"Going back to Georgia after this, hanging up my spaceship doctor shingle."

"I don't believe you're actually putting yourself out to pasture, Len," Chris says, feeling the need for another drink.

"Watch and learn, kid." He waves at the bartender and points at their table. 

"What? You're just going to sit in your porch swing and sip mint juleps til you die?" She places both elbows on the table when her plate is cleared. 

"Gonna try," Len says. "I'm a little older than you debutantes," he says as he raises his bourbon.

"Debutantes. Pffft." Chris leans her cheek against her palm.

"To my three favourite Enterprise homewreckers and the finest damned crew the universe has ever encountered! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" They replied. They empty their glasses and Len orders another round.

"Homewreckers?! When did you start happy hour?" She glances at his face. 

"Just priming for the real deal, Chris," he says. "What's your after mission plans?" 

"I'm going to get my MD. Only lacking a few months." She stares into her drink. She hopes he doesn't set his lazer focus psychoanalyser on her tonight. 

"In Star Fleet?" 

"I'm not sure yet." She doubts it. She'll have the baby.

"Always a place for you when I get my practise going, Chris. When you get tired of it all."

"Thanks, Len." 

"What about you, Ny?" Len turns to her.

"I'll find a ship after I'm tired of being away, Leonard. I'm one of the first to hear of new postings." She grins at the CMO.

"It's really too early for me to get the end-of-cruise-blues, sugah."

"Jan?"

"Star Fleet. A post that's part of engineering. All I know, Lenny," Jan tilts her glass towards her and stares into it.

"Engineering? There's my girl." McCoy raises his glass to them and finishes another bourbon.

A round of drinks they didn't order arrive, with no sponsor. The waiter walks away.

"Must be from Spock," McCoy mumbles, picks up his glass and takes a sip this time. 

"One more day. Any plans?" McCoy is particularly chatty this evening.

"Tomorrow is that second half of R & R you spend with someone you're romantically involved with," Jan answers.

"I don't know if I want to shop in a Starbase Mall two days in a row." 

"Figured you had plans, Chris."

"It's not as though I need to give twenty four hours notice, Len. If I'm not trapped in sickbay, I'll probably hit a jewellers or two."

"Without dragging you know who?"

She looks askance at him, waiting for him to finish. 

"What are you asking? If he wants to come jewellry shopping with me, he'll tell me." She keeps her glare fixed on him until he backs down. 

"Oh, Len." She squeezes between her eyes as though she's getting a headache. "You're not reading into things just because I mentioned jewellry, are you?"

"Who? Me?" He puts his hands up. "Ok, Chris. I got excited."

She laughs. "I don't think wedding rings when I think starbase jewellers. Do me a favour?"

"Yes, m'dear?" 

"Hush."

"Yes, ma'am."

A small band is setting up on the other side of the bar.

She looks around for a chrono. 2047 hours. She's ready to go and it's not even 2100 yet. 

She'll leave when Spock does. She urges Leonard out of the way as she slides from the booth, then looks for a washroom. 

When she returns, he is standing near the edge of the bar with two drinks. He gestures towards two stools.

They sit and he hands her what he's having, a dry Vulcan wine. "You needed a break from the good doctor." 

She nods. "He's initiated end-of-mission melancholy. I think it's catching."

"The other two don't have a sufficient buzz to let go, but when that," she looks over at the band, "gets going, we're going to lose Ny, and Janice will be off on the dance floor."

"And you?" He is staring at her lips. "Where will you be?"

"With you." Her blue eyes, heavy lidded from her slight intoxication , are locked onto his. 

Spock waits patiently. 

She blinks and turns away. 

She's determined to keep her wits ahead of her alcohol buzz tonight, she’s all too easily allowed thoughts of what alcohol might do to the foetus slip from her mind. She looks back across the bar.

"If I wasn't with you, I'd probably be on the dance floor too."

"I will dance with you, if you wish."

"Not here, Mr Spock. I want us to be so elegantly turned out that people stop dead in their tracks."

She reels herself back from the future to the present, then reminisces. 

"Jan would drag me onto the dance floor sometimes," She chuckles. "Men loved it, and we looked good together. But I think she's got an eye on a Lieutenant Commander in the second booth from the left." 

"I noticed him earlier looking towards the booth. Why does he not just walk over and introduce himself?"

"Because a booth and table full of big burly crewmates." She laughs. "Jan's too uppity to make the first move."

"You are scheming?"

"Yes. Though I'm not matchmaking. She wants to grill me about you, but Len sat in the booth instead."

"She was extremely subtle."

"Not subtle enough. One moment." She beams at him then turns her head back to her target, and slides into his booth. His eyes widen.

"Hi. My name's Christine. You want to meet her?" She hooks her thumb over her shoulder towards their table.

"Sure." He smiles and takes his drink, then follows her across the restaurant. 

"Name's Phillip."

"Thanks. That'll help." 

She feels Jan's eyes boring into her.

"Scoot over, Len."

She gestures to the spot Len's vacated, still warm. 

"Len's warmed your seat for you. And that's Ny."

They nod. Ny claps her hand to her mouth.

"Jan, this is Phillip." They smile awkwardly. Jan stares daggers at her. Chris smiles sweetly.

"Don't forget we haven't discussed what you two bought at the lingerie shop," she warns.

"Toodles." Chris heads back to the bar.

"We should probably rejoin the merrymakers after you order me another drink." She slides onto the stool next to Spock.

The music will start in ten minutes and Spock may flee.

He takes their drinks across to Kirk and Scott's table, and he drags an extra chair over for her. 

"Chris, you're evil." Kirk has one eye on the mating ritual in the booth.

"Thank you, Captain."

"They've been making eyes at each other for almost an hour." 

"I'd be watching my back for awhile, Chrissie," Scotty says, holding his sides.

"I still conduct their physicals."

McCoy's got hold of poor Phillip, grilling him, and Jan’s face is turning red.

"Who was the Captain? Oh, him. He can't hold his liquor. Let me tell you a story.." 

More convulsing from the table as they watch a slurring McCoy derail Phillip's attempts to court Jan.

Chris scoots her chair around until she's facing their booth squarely, then settles in and gawps with undisguised interest at Jan and Phillip. 

The others surrounding her catch the spirit and do the same. 

Jan ignores them for awhile then she cuts her eyes at them every few moments,screwing her face up. Jim and Chris corpsing at her expressions.

She lets fly a volley of invective just as the band cuts in, swallowing up her words. The new couple decide to head to the dance floor.

She stares at Chris as she and Phillip slide out of the booth. She stares at Chris until the couple pass the table.

Occupants at booth and table burst into racous laughter.

Ny makes her way towards the bandstand. "There she goes," Scotty says, his eyes following her to the bandstand. 

Jan and her newfound friend are pressed close on the dance floor.

Jim orders them a round. Chris senses that Spock will tolerate one more song before he excuses himself for the evening. 

She leans close to him. She wants to hear Ny, but that will probably have to wait.

"We can leave when you want."

"Finish your next drink. These gatherings will become rare sooner than you think," he says. He will not be allowing her to indulge again. Not until after the child is born. 

"Reading my mind again?" A raised eyebrow is her response. 

"We will rent a large house on the beach somewhere for few days. Invite our friends."

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears."I want this too, Mr. Spock. Very much. We will try."

"Uncertain about the future, Miss Chapel?"

"Not anymore, Mr Spock. I have little faith that we'll be able to have a real shore leave before it's time to vacate ship, though."

"We will gather them before they move forward with new projects. After all, we have a year. Perhaps two."

**

He will do this for her.

He pulls her right hand, which is resting on her thigh, into his hand and leaves their clasped hands settle between them for a few minutes.

He turns her right hand so that it is facing down, clasping his. He brings it to his thigh and rests it there. He examines her hand, now her fingers, lingering on her perfect nails. He slowly uncurls her ring finger, stroking it absentmindedly, as Jim places the ring in his free hand.

Without a word, he slips the ring he's asked his mother to send him onto her finger. 

She gasps, then after an eternity, lifts her blue-coloured eyes from the ring to his. He puts his finger to his lips. "Shhh."

  
~0~


	14. Short Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this weeks ago. I never added it because it didn’t seem to fit in, but I’ve changed my mind. I tend to write chapters just to brainstorm, and reject most of them. The process is its own reward, especially later when the significance of recurring motifs becomes clearer.

_“A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are encountered...”_ -Joseph Campbell

"I will arrange for us to take leave within one month, at which time, our devices should be ready to test. We will have at least two of every device, and six pattern buffers. Two to three of the pattern buffers will contain your image."

She starts to speak, he halts her. He continues. “If I must submit, so too must you. If we are to be married, and you fail to outlive me, I will have two patterns of you as you are now. Pregnant. We will recharge your two --no--three buffers after your pregnancy. I will have you as my bondmate for as long as I live."

She laughs, "You'll be an old man with a sexy younger wife."

"Indeed. What is that saying? In for a penny, in for a pound. We will secure more pattern buffers soon. I begin to feel greedy. You can fetch a younger version of Spock from a buffer after old me is done with you."

She laughs. It's an insane plan, she thinks she's dreaming.

"I will make calls on the most secure channels, and work will have already begun before we have dinner tonight."

"We will test the systems, there will be more than one backup of my pattern available, and we will know that my pattern can be recorporated near flawlessly. We will not use the patterns if I avert disaster another way. You will be the keeper of one pattern buffer, the other kept at my family's ancestral home. The third to be kept by someone who will remain anonymous off-planet. The fourth and one of yours, interred in a coffin buried in front of a small stone marker incised with my name in Old High Vulcan.” 

~0~

“Eventually, the buffers will have to be disinterred and taken to a secure location, perhaps Earth-."

"Why?"

"The planet Vulcan will be destroyed." 

She was sad now. The burden of foreknowledge. "Indeed, I know that I survived the incident in the dream. But I must carry on as if I do not know."

"Are you strong enough to do this for centuries?"

She smiles. "Are you kidding? I want more than one buffer of you as you are now."

"I am not. You will have more buffers in time but there is not a surplus of them. We will accumulate buffers over the decades, as well as several one pad transporters." 

"Eventually, time will catch up with us, by then we will have found another way to preserve youth and go on living."

"Romulus will be destroyed before Vulcan is. We will appear in another timeline afterwards."

"What happens to this timeline?"

"It will continue but we will find ourselves in an alternate timeline years in the past. There will be a younger version of you and I there, and their lives will be very different at that age compared to what ours were. Essentially strangers. We will not cross their paths as Spock and Chapel. We will need new identities."

"If you knew the future-"

"There are many timelines. All I know are broad brushes of a timeline here and there. There is every chance the timelines will change before we arrive."

"I have been involved in unauthorised transporter modifications and usage for some time."

"The procedure my counterpart sent here <image of a small box hooked to a buffer> was devised by Mr Scott. His pattern was held in the pattern buffer until he was successfully rematerialised in 2369." He could sense shock from her.

"That knowledge of the procedure came to you from Captain Spock means he has the access to temporal transport devices that I do not."

"I am in your mind; do not speak. You are already complicit. Once you lay eyes on modified transporter and replicator equipment and fail to report within forty-eight hours, incurs ten year minimum prison sentence. If it can be established that you have handled those devices, minimum is fifty years. Use of equipment, and no one will ever see you again if you are caught. Are you still determined?"

"Yes."

"If we are discovered, we will have to flee to another dimension, time, or both."

He removes his hand from hers. Lunch is over in ten minutes


	15. Love for Lunch

_Upon her entering the seventh gate,_

_All garments of ladyship of her body were removed._

_”What, pray is this?”_

_“Extraordinarily, O Inanna, have the decrees of the nether world been perfected,_

_O Inanna, do not question the rites of the nether world.” -_ Sumerian Mythology

**USS Enterprise**

She’s lain awake for an hour worrying about seeing shadow figures and faces in mirrors when she knows she should be worried about her health...

 _//Has Commander Spock decided to take my advice?//_ he asks. He hasn’t contacted her for some time. In two weeks, she will be on leave on Vulcan.

_//We had a bad argument, the result of which he decided to take my, by which I mean your, advice.//_

_//Ah, the one where you threatened to kill yourself if he did not?//_

She squeezes her eyes shut against the painful memory. _//Yes. That is a painful memory, Captain Spock.//_

_//As the results worked out in your favour, it cannot be as painful as all that.//_

He continues. 

_//Christine, have you gathered sufficient technology to be able to visit this dimension at will?//_

_//I am not sure, sir. Commander Spock has taken my memories of such information.//_

_//I see..//_ he muses. _//Presumably to protect you against prosecution in your illegal enterprise. He cares deeply for your welfare. A positive prospect, is it not?//_

 _//Yes, since I have to trust him in this. He demands for no less than my complete trust that he will do as I insisted.//_ Christine had to do this for him in return for her blackmail. 

_//Why should I need to return to your universe, Captain?//_

_//I have missed you, Nurse Chapel.//_

_//I’m engaged to your counterpart, sir. And carrying your child. It’s awkward. He’s become very protective of me. Starfleet will demand my resignation soon. Pregnant women can’t be on duty on starships. I suspect Leonard hasn’t reported my pregnancy yet, but my body will report it for me in a month or two.//_

_//I will be gentle with you, Christine.//_

_//I’m sure you understand that I can’t, Captain.//_ She can sense amusement through the link (or bond, she wonders if it’s closer to a bond.)

_//I did not bond with you, Christine. There is my Christine, Dr Chapel, in mind. She who is to be my wife soon.//_

_//Yes, it’s all so tidy and convenient that our counterparts are together in both universes.//_

_//You have me to thank for helping that along, Christine.//_ Smug, arrogant git, she thought to herself. He sends a small chuckle through the link.

_//We would have you two at the wedding ceremony, but it would raise questions. Your universe is a secret to most here. The danger of exploitation is too great. In time, it will no longer be a secret. This much I have observed in my travels to the future.//_

So he did have the means to temporally transport himself. He answers her thought.  
// _There are more means to travel through time than with a temporal transporter, Christine. But yes, I am what is known as a time travel tourist, and strategist.//_

_//I think Commander Spock intends that we become time travellers, as well.//_

_//There are inherent dangers to time travel that you should be aware of. Health and mental dangers among them. I will brief you about them later, perhaps while you are on leave. At any rate, you are to tell me before you embark on your first temporal adventure, Miss Chapel. Time travel is a subset of interdimensional travel, which I will expect of you two. We will meet again, Christine. Give me your coordinates now.//_

_//What? You can’t be serious?//_ Curiosity got the better of her, so she requested coordinates from the terminal on Commander Spock’s desk, and sent them to Captain Spock through the link.

Moments later, after she coalesced, she found herself in his quarters on the ISS Enterprise. 

“But how..?” she asks.

“Inter-dimensional transporter,” he gestures at her feet. She’s standing on a single pad transporter he has installed in the corner of his cabin. 

“In the distant future, an inter-dimensional transport device will be handheld. But for now, it is easier to keep up with maintenance and repairs by utilising a reliable version from the near future.” He hands her two transponders. 

“One for you, one for Commander Spock.”

He steps close to her and wraps his arms around her. “Indulge me. I will remove the memory before returning you.” 

He places his fingers to her temple, manually raising her shields. “Come.”

He pulls her gently with him over to his bunk, setting the transponders behind the bunk before he removes the pins from her hair, placing those with the transponders. 

He places his hand over the light swelling of her belly, holds it there for awhile, pleased at the thought of his child growing within her, before he begins to remove her uniform, kissing down her neck then across her collarbone.

She knows she should resist, but knows she won’t. The shock of feeling his hardness warm and firm filling her is exquisite. He makes love to her tenderly, she responds with a passion that surprises him. They both cry out as he climaxes first, sending her over the edge. Their bodies pulse and clench around and within one another. In her way, she loves him, loves that she can tell herself it would do no good to resist his seduction, loves that she can lie to herself now knowing she’ll have no memory of doing so later. She is an inter-dimensional whore.

What twisted little mess this cross-dimensional betrayal is..

Afterwards, they lie nude, sweaty and nested into one another.

“I can’t stay much longer, or uncomfortable questions will be asked.” She turns to look at his bearded face behind her. He kisses her gently.

“No, you must return soon.” 

They rise, she walks into the washroom to take a shower. Finished and hair dried, wrapped in his robe, she retrieves her hairpins and sweeps and pins her hair in a sloppy updo. She has cleansed all traces of their coupling since once she’s returned to the USS Enterprise, she won’t remember needing to do so.

He has laid her clothing out on his bunk. When she’s finished dressing, he leaves his desk to stand before her. Placing his fingers to her temple once more, he whispers, “Forget.” He returns control of her shields to her.

“I will contact you when I have need of you. The transponder will make it easier for me to transport you here. Live long and prosper, Christine.”

She steps on the single pad transporter, and watches as his bearded face fades from view. Less than eight seconds later, she’s back in Spock’s quarters, alone, on the USS Enterprise. 

She places the transponders in his top desk drawer, then comms him. “Mr Spock, when you get back to your quarters, there are a couple items in your desk drawer. I’ll need to explain.”

“Yes, Nurse Chapel,” he answers. This is a conversation not suited to be held in earshot of other crew-members. 

“I should get back to the lab, Mr Spock. I’ll see you tonight for dinner in the mess hall,” she says. She blows the comm a kiss and cuts connection. For some reason, she’s extremely aroused. 

* _Maybe tonight’s the night,_ * she muses to herself. Leaving his quarters, she’s unaware of the just-got-laid smile she wears through the corridors.

  
***  
  



	16. Loose Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to stay somewhat on the same page with established technobabble of the ST universe is slowing me down, any errors I catch I will try to correct in subsequent chapters. I never realised how consistent the imaginary tech/science was in that universe. Ultimately, how these characters deal with the consequences of using and abusing that technology is the thread running through all these strange little conversations; behind everything is their loyalty to one another through whatever risks they take.

“How was Captain Spock able to beam you to him without our sensors picking up the transfer? At least residual ionisation residue should have been detectable. I have gone over the sensor logs.” Commander Spock wonders to himself more than asks Christine. It’s a finger-steepling moment.

“He was using transporter technology got from the future, Spock.”

“This is a very serious breach of protocol. Do not give him coordinates or handle the transponders without notifying me first. The transponders will have to be shielded in some way, so they cannot be remote-activated. I want to reverse engineer them, but for now, they represent a danger to this ship.”

“Anti-matter containment pod?” She throws out the first idea that comes to mind. 

“Mm. I was thinking more along the lines of a contained antilepton field, which would need to be shielded from any sensors that can detect the transponders’ subspace transmissions. It would be helpful to know at what subspace frequency they transmit.”

He retrieves a tricorder from a locked drawer in his desk, and quickly scans the set of transponders. “This scan was not helpful except that the quantum signature does not correspond with our own, the signature at which all matter resonates in our own universe.”

“Mr Spock, he did mention metaphasic shields during my first visit.”

“I am not aware of any such technology, Miss Chapel.”

“I’m not sure he isn’t using future tech in tandem with advanced alien tech.” She feels useless in this discussion.

“I am tempted to activate them, and let them be beamed back to the other universe while I scan their frequency.”

“Perhaps the frequency is cloaked like the transporter frequency was.” She’s at sea. “Mr Spock, if sending me back with these transponders is part of some grand scheme to fuck us over...”

“I do not know his intentions, Christine.”

“Since when did you ever, Spock? At some point, I must cease being a go-between, and you have to communicate with him yourself. I’m passing the baton.”

“Not yet, Christine. We require more neutral ground to experiment from than the Enterprise.” He pulls his lower lip back exposing his teeth momentarily as if to signify that they are playing with fire. His classic grimace. “If only we could bring Captain Kirk and Mr Scott into our confidence.”

He shakes his head. “You are correct, Christine. I must be able to communicate with him directly.” He ponders. “I will contact his consort, your counterpart. Dr Chapel. Another go-between.”

“Perhaps it’d be helpful to consider Captain Spock as an enabler, sir. If he’d be willing to link with you, and send you back here with a device we can use independent to our dealings with him, so to speak. As a gesture of trust.”

“Ask him, Christine. Through the link.”

“Mr Spock, Dr Chapel may be more persuasive.” 

Spock sighs. He fears what Dr Chapel may want from him in return. She’d wanted him, during her visit to his universe...and he admitted to himself that he’d wanted her too - - just a little. “Christine, she seemed very fond of me during her time here.”

“Of course she was, Mr Spock. It’s elementary.” She looks away for a moment. “Needs must. I trust you. I’m never quite sure what happens when I’m in Captain Spock’s universe. I...I think he did something with me during that last visit.” She braces herself. Post-orgasmic flush is hard to disguise, memory or no.

“He did, Christine. He had coitus with you. It is his way.” He shrugs. “He is establishing a pattern.” 

“But how..?” Christine blanches.

 _“Kaiidith._ It is how it is in your dealings with him, with or without your consent. You are vulnerable in his custody.” Commander Spock brushes an errant lock from her brow. It was obvious to him that his counterpart had taken her again, he is not sure he is feeling gracious enough to make it easy for her by telling her how he knows. 

“Why doesn’t this - pattern, if such - bother you?” 

“It does. Not as much as it would have if he were not my counterpart. There is always Dr Chapel.” There, let her worry about one way this could turn nasty. 

She looks away, and crosses her arms. “I suppose I deserve that, although I should at least have the pleasure of remembering any congress I’ve had with your counterpart. Establish contact with him somehow, and even the score. Just know, I am with you. Til the bitter end. Til deaths do us part.”

His lips tick up. “I will not betray you, Christine, and you have not and will not betray me - in all the ways that matter. We stay together. We do not betray one another’s confidences. Realise, however, that you are as a toy to my counterpart, and realise that I have allowed this.”

“Just know,” he echoes her earlier phrase, “that you are running out of excuses, beloved. Cease.”

He kisses her gently, mockingly. She is smarter than this; the first time his counterpart took her was beyond her control. The second time was a glaring error in judgement on her part. He won’t excuse a third. 

“Christine, do you understand? Unless your life is in extreme danger, you will consciously avoid visiting him again.” He shakes his head. “No more. I will find a way to establish a link with him.”

“Yes, Spock.” She would not cry..she would not cry... “I will focus on being a wife and mother, and doing my job.”

“You will do those things, and you will avoid having us be prosecuted for crimes against the Federation. Stay calm, do not make rash decisions, do not be impulsive. Let me handle the technology.”

Her memory will need to be...adjusted. Again. After he meditates. After he wipes this conversation from the ship’s computer. He rues the day he will have to really _trust_ her. It is coming. It isn’t that she isn’t trustworthy, but her vulnerability to that other Spock bothers him. He will need to keep a closer eye on her. He will need to bond with her.

Needs must when the devil drives.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock hastily marks a prediction resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock and the crew of the USS Enterprise do the best they can with the information they have at the time. Dabbling with interdimensional and temporal forces means no one on board can take for granted who or where they are anymore.

_For_ _my_ _eye_ _withers,_ _and_ _his_ _star_ _wanes_ _dim._ -Wilfred Owen.

**USS Enterprise**

After Commander Spock inspects the transponders Chris has been given, and had words with her over whatever he suspects she’s been doing with Captain/mirror Spock, he is dreaming as they sleep intwined in body:

_Spock watches as Scotty takes the pattern buffer, sets it under the pad, and beams Spock's doppelganger, created using a forbidden replicator, into existence._

_His doppelganger nods to Mr Scott and waits patiently. From this moment on, Spock Two’s thoughts are his own. He should become noticeably distinct from the Spock who remains, with his own hopes and dreams, bondmates, and life arc. Except-._

_Spock walks over to his doppelganger and says, "Perhaps a link?”_

_Spock Two inclines his head.  
Spock links his mind to his--? They are identical for all intents and purposes, until differing experiences make them distinct to one another._

_Replicant? They're virtually indistinguishable, but Spock takes bioreadings anyway. He gives his doppelganger a jacket._

_”She prospers?" Spock Two asks how Christine fares as neutrally as he can._

_”Most kind. You will miss her?" Spock had not anticipated this. He did not plan this properly._

_Spock Two nods, "It is as it must be. I will find another, or I will not. Kaiidith."_

_Spock Two feels the crushing weight of loss and grief for the wife he leaves here. She is just as much his as she is the, dare he say, duplicate he is discussing her with now._

_”I will send Christine from the buffer to you, in time. She too carries the child within. Ask me," Spock says to his other self, as he senses turmoil in the other Vulcan's thoughts. His guilt washes over him. He grieves for his other self._

_Spock Two nods. "Most kind. If I am able find a secure place for us to raise a family, I will. Peace and long life, Spock."_

_”Ready when you are, sirs,” says Mr Scott._

_”Live long and prosper, Spock."_

_Scott reconfigures the transporter, then set coordinates for a remote transport outpost in the mirror universe. Spock Two is going to join the resistance at Captain/mirror Spock's request._

_He has satisfied his end of the bargain. ISS Enterprise will pick his self up in three hours._

_Spock thanks Mr Scott, who does not wish to be thanked, he enjoys this stuff immensely. When Scott has removes Spock's modified pattern buffer and hands it to him, he admires it one last time._

_”Was a clever man devised this rig, sir."_

_”Yes he was, Mr Scott."_

_”Won't say I won't knock together one of my own."_

_”If I can be of any assistance, Mr Scott."_

_”I'll let you know._ _How did you get one of yourself out of the buffer unless there were two already?"_

_”A modified replicator using quantum-level instead of molecular-level replication, then put the replicant into the transporter pattern buffers to delay the process until the replicant was wanted,” Commander Spock says. "All we lack is a transporter. A portable pad should be sufficient."_

_”You replicated yourself, then allowed yourself to be transported into the buffer, creating a replicant Spock. I'd look at the transporter logs; degradation is cumulative. Your duplicates held longest in suspension may have more integrity than the original, assuming there was no leakage during suspension. Meaning you, sir, after years of transporter runs." Scott continues, “You have to get this level of tech from aliens or the future. I hope you know what you’re doing, if anyone does it’s you. The possibilities are exciting.”_

_”In any case, Mr Scott, my policy is to use the pattern where my biological age is oldest first, to slow down 'age creep', however negligable. I then create an extra suspended pattern. Unfortunately, all of Christine's patterns are pregnant with the same child."_

_Scott laughed, poor Chrissie!_

_”Are you going to flush her patterns and create new ones when she isn't pregnant?"_

_”I...do not know. Each pattern holds another version of the woman I hold dear, carrying my child."_

_”Ask Christine. By the time your child is old enough to ask, Chris will be nearly twenty years older,” Scott muses, then continues. “Brilliant. I'll be in touch. In person. A well maintained, portable transporter is sufficient, it's getting hold of the biofilters without raising suspicion. I'll work on that here the next two years. Together we may be able to remove a step or two, but storage integrity will be my focus. Please request an extra quantum replicator to create a buffer for me, Mr Spock. I'm as excited as a little boy before Christmas. Go erase those transporter logs please, sir." His eyes gleam in anticipation._

_”I will, Mr Scott." Scott offers him his hand. Spock recognises it as a gesture of trust._

_He takes the engineer's hand, squeezes firmly and shakes._

_Scott unlocks the transporter room doors and Spock strolls down to the M5 computer bay. He is relieved Scott is with them. The engineer’s enthusiasm is infectious._

_Spock sets out to erase traces from the security vids and transporter logs._

_Hours later, he receives a message from himself...well, sort of himself. His replicant will have his own experiences from now on. All is as it should be._

_He sends a message to his cousin. His cousin has anticipated his request. The buffers await on Vulcan. He requests a quantum replicator be got for Mr Scott, but he thinks he may now be better suited to fulfil Mr Scott’s request._

* * *

_Six months later, Commander Spock senses panic. He stills and reaches through the link to his replicant._

_//The situation is dire, brother.//_ , his replicant reports.

_Images of strange bluish green skies through an opening in a cave of rust coloured rock._

_//I have inadvertently found the location of the death scene. Beta Riobe III, in the alpha quadrant.//_

_//Are you sure?//_ Commander Spock asks.

_//I am certain. Just outside of my shelter, fourteen meters to the left is the rock face. I am trapped. I await my fate.//_

_//I would that it were this self, but the scales would balance just the same. This is scant comfort to you, I know. I will never forget._ // Commander Spock is inconsolate.

_//Peace and Long Life, Spock cha Sarek.//_

_//May thee find peace in the halls of Mt. Seleya. Send me what memories you can.//_

_//Salvation for my katra lies with you, my shadow.//_

_Commander Spock asks to be excused temporarily, seeks to find control and in his quarters before what must be the inevitable occurs. His other self's distress is palpable. That self sends a flood of memories of his time since he last spoke face to face with Commander Spock in the USS Enterprise’ transporter room._

_Commander Spock, quaking, breathing harshly, struggles to control. He sinks onto the meditation stone and steeples his fingers against his lips as he steels himself._

_Ten point eight minutes later, he feels searing pain flood through him, then just as quickly, the pain disappears._

_He whispers the ritual of the passing into_ ~all that was, is, and will be~; _...tears pouring down his face behind realisations that he has just felt a part of himself die. It’s worse than that. He’s sent a version of himself to die, without asking permission of that part of himself, of his replicant._

The dream ends, and Spock wakes with a shudder, wet tears all over his pillow and Christine's back.

"Spock?" She turns to him and gathers him to her breast, until his sobs subside.

She will not ask. She has learned that he needs time to analyse traumatic events.

He buries his face between her breasts. Letting his head fall, he latches onto her nipple, suckling like a child, soothing himself. He wraps his arm around her torso, holding her there.

Christine rests, lets him take his comfort as she strokes his sleek black hair. He's fallen back on to the instincts of a deeply unhappy child buried in grief.

He raises his head and rolls her onto her back, where he can take her other breast into his mouth.

He slides his torso between her legs as he nurses for comfort, and guides himself inside her surprisingly tight cool slickness. He rests buried within for awhile, she clenching down on him involuntarily, he kissing and suckling and pinching each breast in turn.

He pulls his hips back and sinks himself into her over and over, arch back hitch hips forward, digging his knees in the bed with each powerful thrust. His need to drive deep has his torso nearly folding in on itself with each shove.

He tries to arch his pelvis up in and behind her back. He sucks below her collarbone til it's raised and dark red, his hands gripping her shoulders, holding her down and against his thrustings. She does not seem to be in distress at his violent grief-driven savagery. He thinks he will keep her.

He's gasping as he feels pressure build mount and peak, he explodes within her, as he thrusts again and again, his warm wetness driving her over as well. Clench clench clench pulse pulse pulse they quaver across and within one another's involuntary muscle spasmings.

He collapses onto her, his chin tucked in her neck and collarbone, cheek to cheek. She feels his rapid heartbeat against her lower ribs, his breaths move her short nape hair across her neck, tickling her.

Later, he slides down her torso, slick with sweat, spreads her legs, and laps their juices from between her legs. He pushes her thighs back and out, and dips his tongue into her and sucks, tongues then suckles her clit, until he slides back up her, kissing her lips then sliding his tongue inside her mouth, probing her own tongue, forcing her to taste what he shares.

He rolls to his side, his arm draped across her ribcage.

"I had a terrible dream," Spock says.

She turns towards him and props her cheek on her hand, waiting.

“I dreamt I replicated myself, there is no difference to the original and the replicant made from that pattern buffer, except for the memories between us from the time I created the replicant. There were two of me. I had been contacted by Dr Chapel asking for assistance of the sort only I could provide, since I am identical to her husband.”

“I sent the replicant to the mirror universe with Mr Scott's help. He, my replicant, was distraught because he was leaving you. I told him I would send you, I should say a replicated version of you, to him, once he found felt he was stable.”

“Months went by, and I felt his panic on the bridge one morning. He sent me images of the exact location where my death image was located. He was in a cave or fissure there, hiding. He was being hunted and odds were overwhelmingly against him.”

“I left the bridge and came here. I felt him die. That is when I awoke.”

“He was the one who died at the base of the rock. Captain Spock did know the Spock which I sent was a replicant.” Spock bowed his head at the weight of what he had done to a copy of himself.

Christine rubbed his back, sending support. She was worried that the dream was only a dream, and that Commander Spock's death was still looming.

"Christine, I could not stop the process of setting up the modified modules now if I tried. We will carry on with that plan. I must decide if I must follow through on sending a replicant there now, however."

She relaxed. "How did you get him there?"

"Ah. We do not need to exchange counterparts to transport between universes, as we once believed. We will need a wormhole to bring back a multidimensional transporter from the future. Approximately the year 2300."

"Failing this, we detonate a tricobalt torpedo inside the gravity well of a dead star."

She looks askance at him. “How practical are any of those solutions?"

"If my hypotheses are correct, they will serve until we have more information. I will discuss it with someone on Vulcan."

“We can transport as we did before. A set of us exchange, brings the souljar, rematerialises the replicant there, and one of us exchanges with Captain Spock."

She doesn’t love that idea. She's run out of room to bargain though.

"It is still not logical. Captain Spock has the means to create his own."

She runs her hand through his chest hair. He's distracted and bright-eyed in a way she's not sure is good, but at least he's committed to their redundancy plan.

"Christine, if I can find a way to reach the future and come back to the day we had left, you are coming with me, are you not?"

If this is a test, she's equal to it. "Yes."

"How much leave did you request?"

"A month, at most. We have the option to return two weeks ealier, but if what I have requested is in place, we will take the entire month. Spock, how are you going to get a temporal transporter past twenty-fourth century security protocols?"

"Because I will order it now and have the order distributed down proceeding generations. Failing that, Captain Spock will not fail to come through at least this once, if he desires my cooperation.” He raises his eyebrow.

“It all sounds so simple when you say it."

“If my calculations are correct, the transporter will already be there before we leave."

She gawps. This time travel thing could be handy with the right minds behind it.

“There will be an arm of starfleet that tries to prevent this technology from being utilised,” he says.

“The inevitable question is how you know this?" She’s going to have trouble keeping up soon.

“What is the simplest answer, Christine?"

“You know someone from the future, you have access to the future -- maybe recorded from the guardian of forever logs."

“I have had some access for approximately three point three five months. From you."

“I can't even-. How did that happen?"

“One of you, several hundred years in the future, has managed to contact me. She must be linked to one of my selves in her current time."

She smiles. She wonders if she will have stayed with him all those centuries. She also realises this time travel/interdimensional stuff has got complicated already, and she’s hardly done anything yet. How in hell does she keep track once they really get serious? There must (or will) be multiple versions of her and Spock due to them messing around with time travel.

“I wonder how many we created?"

“She has told me it is currently the year 2866 for her. As for how many of our selves we created, I do not know."

“Sweet mercy! Spock, the implications. There must be sightings of us everywhere by 2866. We really lost control of the project. Are we still married?"

“She would not tell me. Said that would be cheating." He is getting a headache. He did some quick calculations then pushes the unwanted thoughts into that portion of his mind marked: ‘save for meditation’.

Chris laughs at her future self scolding Mr Spock. Clearly, she isn’t bothered by the monster they will have created.

“But I have reason to believe we are still married. Or will be again. Suppose I died without being able to create another me. If I were a determined, intelligent, unique woman who had survived hundreds of years under the nose of the Federation, I would go to the past and retrieve my mate."

“I must contact her later. She is very rich, as you would expect. Insider knowledge of the markets." When did it become so easy go rogue? 

“If I can coordinate a message initiated on Vulcan that will have sufficiently resisted volatility well into the time she will live in.."

She is lost in her thoughts at the implications, though he doesn't seem to mind her not littering the dialogue with acknowledgements. She’s already lost track of the plot, he suspects, and they’ve hardly begun.

He will build the souljars anyway, because he will have already built them regardless. He sends the message. He will not tell her. She will not quite believe him. He will do this for her. 


	18. Hubris

**Vulcan, Four Years Later**

“My starfleet career is over, at least until I feel my child doesn’t need my guidance. Moving on to phase three of my life. I have everything I’ve ever wanted, really. I’m a wife with a gorgeous rare husband, whom I don’t deserve, I love his family, and we are raising a beautiful child.” Chris sinks back in her chair as though she has achieved nirvana.

“I’m afraid to jinx it.” She finishes off her wine.

“Will another glass of wine possibly jinx it,” Lady Amanda asks. She loves her oft-distracted daughter-in-law. She hears the sound of someone, likely Spock, arrive in the house. The heavy door closing is unmistakable.

Her son seems more relaxed than she has ever remembered. She returns to the house to busy herself in one of the other rooms, sensing his son and his wife need some alone-time.

He is relaxed because his Christine can’t do as much damage here, ironically. Her mind is on other matters, and he has achieved his link with Captain Spock. His counterpart has promised not to contact her directly anymore. In the interim, his counterpart sent a very sophisticated single-pad temporal transporter, and hasn’t imposed since. Along with the transporter, knowledge of travel across dimensions was imparted.

He and Christine have four iterations of themselves locked in loops in sophisticated transporter buffers, and they are planning their first non-starfleet journey into the future/past and beyond.

Commander Spock will never admit it, but mirror-other was the catalyst to him seeking fulfilment with Christine; although it was messy in the first few months, he does not regret choosing her.

His daughter, T’Ara, will return from the schoolhouse in at least two hours. His father is off-world. His mother has agreed to raise her grand-daughter while they’re off on their secret excursions.

Spock draws his wife aside when she breezes in from the garden, and pulls her onto his lap. “Beloved, I was told of a quantum reality which sounds most interesting. There, for us, it is a hundred or so years in the past. Versions of ourselves thrive, including an ancient iteration of me presumably from this timeline. I do not know how that can be. Curiosity overwhelms me. We now know how the mirror universe branch was caused.”

“Is it time for our next adventure, Mr Spock?” She kisses his noble brow. She won’t bother asking him yet where he’s got such privileged information. She doesn’t want to care about the mirror universe right now.

“I am restless, Miss Chapel. I would have you join me. If some misfortune should befall us, there are those who will bring us back to life here. I am anxious to meet my two others.”

“As long as our daughter is well cared for, I can’t care what fate befalls me,” Christine replies in utter honesty.

“Sarek is off on a mission. The iron is hot.” He licks her neck.

“Say when, sweets.” She shivers at his lip touch. She shifts into a more sombre mode. “When did we become so irresponsible, Spock?”

“We have always been, Christine. We were willing to sacrifice our lives for fellow crewmembers in starfleet. I think we have earned it. We have never stopped serving. Who else is better placed, unencumbered by regulations?”

“We’re not getting paid for charging into danger, my love.”

“Who needs payment when we can play the stock market with foreknowledge? We are already richer than Croesus.”

“The universe is at our fucking feet. I think we’ve shown considerable restraint.” Her eyes are grey with arousal. She rubs his crotch. “Until our race is run?”

“We go down together, _aduna_ ” He latches onto her nipple through her robe. In many ways, she’s the perfect companion for this venture.

Before they leave, he will send a message to Jim.


	19. Two Times Spock Has Ever Used a Contraction, One Time Christine's Ever Noticed He did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB:  
> "The writers of Star Trek (2009), Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci, were asked about the implications of the new alternate reality that was introduced in the film, in an interview. They explained the new reality runs parallel to the prime reality as a new quantum reality, as the concept was explained by Data in the episode TNG: "Parallels". [1] The continued existence of the prime reality was later confirmed with ST: "Calypso" and Star Trek: Picard." (...from 𝑀𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝐵𝑒𝑡𝑎: '𝐴𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒', '𝐴𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠'.)

**Prime Timeline, Vulcan**

“We will be back sooner than you think, daughter.” Spock strokes a lock of his daughter’s dark hair, enjoys her blue eyes which remind him of Christine and his mother.

He and his wife will take a trip to another timeline where, he’s been informed, an older and younger version of himself exists. There are questions he must ask this older counterpart. 

T’Ara has got used to his parents disappearing for awhile. She is well-loved by her mother and father, moreso by her grandparents.

“Bring me a gift from your travels, _t’nash-veh sa-mekh?_ ” (‘my father’.) She is prone to mixing her two languages.

He will not refuse this request. “What do you have in mind, _t’nash-veh ko-fu?”_

T’Ara considers. “Something you think I will find special, papa.” She teases him with the very human appellation.

He presses a light kiss to her temple. “As you wish, T’Ara.”

Christine sweeps into the garden and throws off decorum. “I’m going to miss you so much, sweetheart!” In tears, catches her daughter up in a fierce hug.

“Mother..,” she scolds, but doesn’t really mind her mother’s lapse in decorum. Not here.

“I know, dear heart. As long as I promise to try not to embarrass you in public.” She presses her cheek against her daughter, then releases her. Spock watches the display with a mixture of pride and sadness. Having achieved contentment with his small family, he wonders if it is worth risking all by...no.

Not for the last time he pushes misgivings aside. Neither his wife nor he will feel content to sit on their hands.

“Until we return, T’Arakam, be well.”

He settles for a farewell with a less _permanent-parting_ implication than ‘live long and prosper.’ His resolve is wavering with each moment.

“We must go, _t’nash-veh ko-telsu,”_ he addresses his wife, an unspoken _’before we cannot bear to’_ reaches her through their bond.

Without another word, they walk off down the garden path to the gate, and take off in their flitter.

* * *

**Kelvin Timeline, near Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco.**

“This restaurant is reputed to be excellent.”

“Reputed by who? We’ve been here for all of five minutes.”

“By the smells wafting out of it.”

She laughs. “By all means, let’s go in.”

“Table for two.”

They sit and he studies the contemporary padd he’s acquired. He orders water, she coffee. Coffee and water, constants in any universe, it seems.

“Where do we go from here, Senek?” She chuckles at Commander Spock’s pseudo-name.

“We watch and wait, Kari.”

San Francisco hasn’t changed much from their own timeline, give or take a hundred years or so of progress. There isn’t dramatic upheavals due to natural disasters, gentrification and urban decay suffered centuries before.

From a corner booth, a young officer rises and walks over.

“Hi. Do you mind if I join you two? My party didn’t show.”

“That didn’t take long,” Chris/Kari murmurs. “Have a seat, sir.” She gestures to her side of the booth.

“There’s just something about you two,” he muses. “My name is Jim Kirk.” He slides in to sit beside her. He is a younger, brighter-eyed version of their former captain.

She notices Spock flinch slightly. Not for the last time, he wishes his Jim, his former captain, had accepted his invitation to join them here. Letting his old friend and captain in on aspects of his and his wife’s illegal ventures lifted a great weight from his mind.

His Jim has promised to _try_ to accompany them on one of their ventures, he can’t say when, so mired he is in his own private affairs since the last five-year mission. He is not so nearly as talented in long term relationships as he is commanding starships.

“I’m Kari,” she replies, taking this other Jim Kirk’s hand in greeting.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kari. Would your surname happen to be Chapel?” Wow, nothing like cutting to the chase. She tries not to laugh at his brashness, hiding her smile with her fingers.

“I am Senek. It is pleasant to meet you,” Spock says, slipping into too-formal, as he struggles to hide his amusement and joy, waiting to see if Jim will recognise him.

Jim regards the Vulcan across the booth. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you two seem intent. Like you’re on a mission.”

“You remind me of someone, Kari, as I’ve said. You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Where is the fun in that?” Christine asks.

“I am heading to New Vulcan with the Enterprise. This is impulsive even for me to offer, but I sense you two might want a lift.”

“Why would that be, Jim?” Spock asks.

“Ok you two are defo out of place. Vulcan was destroyed. There’s some mass exodus of off-world Vulcans to there. For kinda obvious reasons to do with repopulating the planet.” He looks at Spock pointedly. “I think you might know more than you’re letting on, sir. Begging your pardon.”

“If you are not willing to ask too many questions, I may be willing to indulge you, Jim.” He glances to his wife. She returns a nod. “As long as this is not a one way trip, we do not mind, what is the term? Tagging along.”

“Be ready to transport at 1600. If my hunch is correct, you will know what to do and how to get there.”

Spock nods. “Most kind. We will be ready then.”

Jim slides away from the booth and waves goodbye.

“Talk about not wasting time with pleasantries,” Chris says.

Spock nods. “Indeed. Shall we spectate then bow out gracefully, ‘Kari?’”

* * *

Stepping off the transporter platform of this strange other USS Enterprise is an interesting experience. 

”Welcome aboard, Mr Spock and Miss Chapel,” Captain Kirk greets them. Of course, he’s seen through their false identities. Chapel shrugs. 

In the corridor, in the path they are taking towards their guest quarters, stood an ancient Vulcan in obligatory robe, his fingers laced. He watches them approach. When they are several steps to abreast of him, he bows his head and walks with them. There is no question as to his real identity.

“I am Selek, forgive my curiosity.”

Christine sighs. “How many of you are there in this timeline, um, Selek?” 

“Why are there at least two of you here, Miss Chapel? You,” ‘Selek’ turns to her husband, “cannot be from my timeline, and you are not native to this one.”

“Will someone tell me what in hades is going on?” She’s exasperated. “How many damned timelines are there?”

The Vulcans ignore her outburst.

“Selek,” her husband plays along with this ancient version of himself, “I have little data to go on, but it is possible that you and I were a single being until an event caused the timelines to branch.”

“You two may as well discuss this in our temp quarters. I’m hungry.” Christine palms her way in, sets her duffel at the foot of the bunk, then takes the other duffel from her husband. She is hungry but something from the bond causes her to hesitate.

The Vulcans take seats on either side of the desk.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Commander Spock. Is that not your rank?”

“I am retired from starfleet, but yes.”

“Vulcan still exists?”

“Yes.”

“Is it not possible- -,” Selek begins.

“Ambassador Spock,” he decides to forgo use of the ambassador’s false name, “the incident did not affect our timeline, not to the extent that Vulcan was destroyed.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes. I am not going to tell you how I know, Ambassador.”

“A meld, then?”

“As you wish.”

The old Vulcan searches Spock’s memories, finding answers to his questions quickly. Breaking the meld, he steeples his wizened fingers.

“In this case, I ask of you a favour.”

“I will, Ambassador.”

“How did you know I wished you to be my katra bearer?”

“It is the most logical solution. You and I do not belong here, you will die soon and you have lost every one and everything that matters.”

“Wow, my husband. Don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel,” Christine interrupts from her seat on the bunk.

Ambassador Spock almost laughs, out of relief. He’s going home. He’s been rescued in the final hour yet again.

“My wife, during the meld we both detected that we were once the same person. This is why I wished to come here; to take him home.”

“Miss Chapel-“ Ambassador Spock addresses her.

“My name is Christine!” 

“Yes I know, Christine. It would be illogical for us to protest against our natures- -don’t you think?” 

She stares at the older Vulcan, reminded of that long ago conversation. “The timeline split after that incident, then? *You* said those words to me back then?”

“Yes, Christine.”

“Why didn’t _you_ choose me, Ambassador?” she whispers. 

“The catalyst that caused you two to find one another suited to one another never occurred for you and I. By then, the timelines had separated us irrevocably. Until now.” His expression is intense.

“Ambassador, my husband isn’t so much returning your katra to Vulcan as...it’s more that you two-“

“..would merge our katras, becoming one, as we once were, with all our separate experiences brought together. Perhaps, Christine.”

“How would that change him...you?”

“I believe you would appreciate the update, Miss Chapel,” the ambassador remarks.

She raises her eyebrow. Did he just leer?

“I would say let’s not waste another moment, do it now before something happens.” She feels sudden urgency to flee, despite curiosity about when the timeline split occurred.

“Christine, I wished to have a discussion with my other counterpart here, the first officer. Instead, I will leave a message for him...I too am wary of, as you say, ‘jinxing’ the occasion by overstaying our welcome. Ambassador, if you will.”

Ambassador Spock nods, reaches over, then touches Commander Spock’s temple, intones, “Remember.” His katra safely transferred, he removes an IDIC pendant from his robe and hands it to him. “For T’Ara.”

“It is done. The ship will leave orbit soon, you two must go. I will record a brief message for the Captain and First Officer, then proceed to ‘die in my sleep.’ Do not concern yourself with farewells. I will comm the captain and tell him that you request to be beamed back to Starfleet Headquarters,” the ambassador says, urging them on. 

“Let us go, my wife. His katra is sequestered for a time. I will wait until we are back on Vulcan to resolve my selves.”

He leaves a parcel and padd with the ambassador. “If you would, make certain the first officer receives this.”

“Go. You are talking to yourself.” The ambassador waves them off.

_Clean of guilt, pass hence and home._

Back in San Francisco, they rush to their beam point, she mutters something about ‘too many Spocks.’

“We were on that Enterprise for something like half an hour,” she says, “and you managed to accomplish your mission?” 

“Yes, Christine. No doubt, the captain arranged our ‘accidental’ encounter with Ambassador Spock in the corridor. It is not every day the captain plays host to three different versions of someone.” 

“He’s just killed two stones with one bird, Spock.”

He ignores his wife’s nonsensical comment.


	20. Tahiti Syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Spock and Christine bring Ambassador Spock’s katra home with them. There, the ambassador gently attempts to guide this younger version of himself, and encourage the couple to enjoy good times while they last.

**Shikahr, Vulcan**

Amanda returns tomorrow with T’Ara, Sarek the day after. Christine is in town, he expects her back within a few hours. 

He is left alone except for the katra of Ambassador Spock. He finds the katra’s presence comforting when he’s alone. Save for the fact that the ambassador is currently an observer in the commander’s mind, the katra is its own unique complete personality with its own memories, thoughts and wry sense of humour.

The commander’s tried to meditate, to order his mind. Unsuccessful, he settles for deep thinking. He wonders why he was so sure he is in the Prime Timeline.

 _//I will solve it for you. We are not in the Prime Timeline.//_ This thought from Ambassador Spock-katra. It is as if they are roommates who share a house, and he has forget to shut the door to his own room when he wished for privacy.

Commander Spock: _//Explain.//_

Ambassador Spock: _//I expect you to know. Also, it is not my fault you find it difficult to meditate.//_

Commander Spock: _//I take readings from before the divergence, then compare those against readings post-divergence. The timeline where the quantum signature value matches the first reading will be the original timeline.//_

Ambassador Spock: _//Very good, Spock-am, although I doubt you even know when the divergence occurs. Now tell me another way to compare readings?//_

Commander Spock: _//Send a message to my past self to take readings, then notice I somehow remember the results.//_

Ambassador Spock: _//I will be surprised if you did not already. What is my quantum signature?//_

Commander Spock: _//I do not know, and as your body is not available...//_

Ambassador Spock: _//You are really, as they say, ‘off your game’, Spock-am. Contentment has sapped your cognitive abilities. Where is the pendant I gave you? Take the reading from it.//_

Commander Spock: _//In our bedroom. I am certain you have already scanned yourself.//_

Ambassador Spock: _//It is most curious. Someone claiming to be me sent a curiously coded message many years ago, three point two years into our five year mission...the logs indicated that the transmission had arrived at the same moment in which we experienced an anomaly consistent with a small wormhole... which caused disturbances to various systems on the ship. Please do not do that again.//_

Commander Spock: _//I wonder why I cannot remember?//_

Ambassador Spock: _//I, too, wonder.//_

Commander Spock: _//You will not tell me what the results of the readings were?//_

Ambassador Spock: _//I will not. I will also not tell you to scan your wife, daughter, and everyone else of significance from now on, and to keep records...//_

Commander Spock: _//Why did you not suggest I scan myself?//_

Ambassador Spock: _//Of course you should.//_

Commander: _//Will you always speak in riddles, Sa’mekh’al?//_

Ambassador: _//Will you always expect me to do your thinking for you, Spock-am?//_

Ambassador Spock-katra hopes this timeline will not follow the path of its parent, he does not want to live through the succession of disasters, loss and misery all over again.

Commander: _//This feeling of unease...I cannot identify the source.//_

Ambassador: _//Me, perhaps? T’Lar thrives?//_

Commander: _//I will seek T’Lar if I must. I do not think it is you I feel uneasy about, I feel that forces seek balance and order, and require a sacrifice to be appeased. It is not logical.//_

Ambassador: _//I have felt that way. What is this dream you are having?//_

Commander: _//I thought it had been resolved, now I am not certain.//_ Spock is unwilling to describe the dream for he suspects the ambassador-katra already knows the content.

The ambassador-katra considers. He remembers any number of possible reasons for such a recurring dream. He will keep his suspicions to himself.

Ambassador: _//My suggestion is to enjoy what contentment you have. Your dream may represent unsolved tensions within yourself. I suspect that you and Christine, your child and your counterparts in the mirror universe are somehow directly tied to the temporal disturbance that caused this parallel dimension.//_

Commander: _//The dream is significant, I have not solved the puzzle it represents. You have privileged information?//_

Ambassador: _//If I do, I have not found the connection. This timeline is young, my preferred scenario is that it remain undiscovered for as long as possible.//_

Commander: _//The mirror universe counterparts..//_

Ambassador: _//...likely engineered it.//_

Commander: _//For what purpose?//_

Ambassador: _//Perhaps you should ask them?//_

Commander: _//I would have been told, by now. I comprehend nothing.//_

The commander considers. _//Do you think I should ask T’Lar to integrate your katra with my own?//_

Ambassador: _//No. I would keep my memories to myself. The choices I made after our timeline diverged were my own. I would not want my experiences to influence your choices. I can better help with the arrangement we currently have. Think of me as your older, wiser brother.//_

Commander: _//Older, indeed.//_

Ambassador: _//I am anxious to see my old friends and family. This location seems a boon, yet I am reminded of the human expression, ‘Too good to be true.//_

Commander: _//Mother has said not to ‘borrow trouble’//_

Ambassador: _//Spock, I would see how history here has unfolded since the timeline divergence. I am not content to watch history unfold as it already did, all over again.//_

Commander: _//What can be done?//_

Ambassador: _//Timeline tampering...crisis aversion..since the events will have already occurred, it would not be unethical to avert them in this one.//_

Commander: _//How are you so certain that this is not the Prime Timeline?//_

Ambassador: _//Aside from the fact that my katra would likely not now be in the mind of my other self in the year 2274? You are not thinking clearly. You do not even know where you are. We will discuss this again later. Your wife is home.//_

The ambassador shields; his katra, which usually appears as a golden orb that glows and pulses, dims now to a smudgey grayed-out shadow.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ongoing Slice of Dysfunctional Domestic Life

They are in the kitchen of his childhood home. It’s lifeless there without Amanda’s and T’Stasht’s constant busywork.

T’Stasht prepares the majority of household meals. Christine often shadows her to learn Vulcan cookery. She finds she enjoys their banter during prepwork, nothing at all to do with the fact that they each find the other attractive.

“Sooo...Ambassador Spock will be what to you? Like a ‘therapy katra?’” She asks, sick of incessant timeline talk.

“Much more,” he says, frowning. Her question makes little sense. “Is this supposed to be humour?”

“Sorry. The joke fell flat, I didn’t plan well,” she mumbles. She feels her cheeks burn.

He hovers as she chops vegetables for _yarmok_ salad.

“I can’t wait until Amanda and T’Ara return from Earth tomorrow. Sarek is away too often,” she says, blinking against the sting in her eyes from chopping an onion.

He grabs a piece of root vegetable, _mashya_ , from the board.

“My mother has bought her a paint set, with special paints that stain only the canvas for which it is intended,” he says, pride in his voice.

“She really enjoys the folktales I read to her at bedtime. I wonder what field she’ll settle into, Spock,” she says as she scoops chopped vegetables into a bowl.

“We will not know for a time, Christine. She is seeking. We will take her camping in the deserts I explored as a child.”

Deserts. Tri-ox. She’ll check inventory.

“Only if we keep the flitter nearby. I’m not adverse to hiking but I don’t love the heat and higher gravity.”

“As you wish. Ambassador Spock has informed me that this is not the Prime Timeline,” he segues.

She continues meal prep. “Yeah, I sort of figured that.”

She reaches for the infused vinegar, carrying it to the bar they use as a table when they are in the house by themselves.

“Thing is,” she continues, “I don’t see why it matters, though it seems to matter to you. I can feel it from your mood. Do you want tea?”

“I will get the tea.”

He wonders how she knows, does not ask. He’s annoyed because the ones who claim to take it for granted, like his wife, never offer to explain how they know.

“It matters because of our avocation. Do you not wonder how we came to be here unawares? I find it somewhat unsettling that one moment I am there, the next I am another timeline away, without ever feeling the transition.” He can’t shake the unease.

“Hmm. Well I can’t complain,” she shrugs. She doesn’t care.

“I cannot tell you that it should matter to you, it matters to me because I should have been there-“

“...Fighting the good fight?” She interrupts him. “We don’t belong there.” She shakes her head, “Spock, I don’t know if we’re here by accident or design but somehow we’ve been given a second chance. This is our ‘do-over’.” She sets their plates on the counter, proceeds to load hers. He joins her at the bar and spoons out smaller portions than usual. She notices.

“This is bothering you, isn’t it?” She asks, despite hoping the subject will be dropped. Out of an airlock. Into another dimension. Out of phase.

It bothers him that she knew and he didn’t, it bothers him that she may have learned from sources and didn’t tell him. It bothers him.

He eats, more to keep her from worrying over him than out of hunger. She refuses to let his mood infect hers, not until he can give her a good reason.

“A ‘do-over’? Do you not have to do something first to be able to ‘do it over’? Do you have any idea what has happened to your counterpart?” He’s not hungry. He clears his plate.

“Presumably she went on being rejected by you or your whatever- - _him_ ,” she scowls at him then chuckles out of embarrassment; the scowl is for the Ambassador Spock-katra.

He sighs. “He did not reject you. The first time you encountered him was days ago. You have never met him in our time, that was _me_.”

“I meant Ambass-.”

“I know who you meant. Your counterpart lived then died, presumably. As did mine. My point was that you do not know what happened between our counterparts, do you? Because if you do, tell me, then tell me how you know.”

As usual, neither of them seem to be picking up what the other is saying. It has become habit to leave the other’s implicit or implied questions hanging. The more they do it, the easier it becomes.

“We should visit,” she says, knowing his answer, knowing they’ll visit anyway. All roads lead to Rome.

“No, we should not.” He shakes his head. Not yet, he thinks. The ambassador wouldn’t approve. “I seem to be the only one out of the loop.”

“You haven’t been meditating. It shows,” she tips her glass and narrows her gaze towards him. “I can always see it in your eyes. I’m just curious, that’s all. What’s happened to all these dreams of dimensional hopping and time travel touristry?”

“We will carry on, though I think an extended break is in order.”

* _An extended break? We always seem to be on extended break._ “We have extra help now,” she reminds him.

“It means that we stop and enjoy our friends and family,” .. _while we can_

“Wow, what did that katra say to you that has you so worried about the future?”

He’s not sure he cares for the irreverent way his wife refers to the ambassador. He doesn’t have an easy answer to her question.

“I do not know, I wonder at the quiet, I suppose. I am used to reacting to one dire emergency after another.”

“We’re not on the flagship anymore,” she says.

“I know, it is still too quiet.”

“That’s superstition, which Vulcans don’t indulge in, because you’ve said they don’t . You’re in a period of adjustment, but if you don’t snap out of it soon, you’ll have me worried sick,” she says. Somewhat rich, considering she’s feeling off, and hasn’t been sharing. That he hasn’t seemed to notice isn’t comforting.

He hasn’t been himself for years. He’s been slipping since before that ion storm carried her away, she’s never acknowledged the change in him. She ponders possible causes, comes up with everything and nothing. Someone took the Spock she knew away and replaced him with a changeling.

* _That’s terrible, Chapel,_ she thinks to herself. * _He’s changed, it’s called growth. He’s unbalanced because he’s got that katra in his head, and’s still adjusting to boring domestic life. We’re both bored. We could rush off on some other adventure, feeling guilty because we’ve left family back here. I don’t know how to fix it._

No voice whispers that she’s changed too, that her change occurred about the same time as his; change comes in the blink of an eye: The ship slips against some harmless-looking gaseous cloud, shudders, sensors go haywire until things seem to return to normal, save for every soul on board: everyone’s been slightly recalibrated.

The cause missed, the event buried in the past, they encounter another disturbance, the cycle repeats. The effects cumulative, they return home with souvenirs; ballast, listing slightly to starboard or port.

Traumas subtle enough to shove down and ignore another day.

He thinks he wants more tea. They are alone, he decides he prefers wine and pours himself a glass.

“You have been dreaming?”

“Yes, that same stupid dream I’ve had since being on that ship. Not the death dream, in this one I’m just mumbling about carrying messages, which I thought meant the cross dimensional telepathy thing. Maybe it did, I don’t know.” He notices her inspecting her nails. It’s a red flag. If he mentions it, she’ll shut down.

“I must choose another project,” he says. “The last trip resolved itself too quickly.”

“That’s what happens when you do research first,” she laughs. “I should pull more of my weight, and you should trust me to. But I want to spend more time with our daughter.”

“Dangers of having parents raise your children. We should write down our dreams after waking, and I should not be dreaming.”

“Why write them down unless details change?” She asks earnestly.

“Because they may have changed slightly but you cannot remember if you do not write down the dream upon waking,” he says.

“I would’ve expected it to change by now. Think there’d be any significance?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps. Takes little time to record any differences.”

“But why, Spock? Why now?”

“Because with people like us, dreams are a conduit. We are like lightning rods for vested interests.”

“The ambassador’s got you spooked, hasn’t he? I knew that would happen.”

“And you have barely had a conversation with him,” he says.

“And he knows things we don’t. Or thinks he knows. Things I’m not sure I want to know, Spock. Not yet. It’s why I worried about you merging or whatever you call it.”

“We are not ‘merged’. We have decided he is more useful as a passenger. I am not sure I want to lose who I am, then find I cannot get myself back.”

“You don’t want him to corrupt you, huh? Neither do I, but I do want to hear stories about his life,” she says.

“Another term I would not use, but the sentiment is correct. I can allow him to speak through me, give him control temporarily,” he mutters, absentmindedly staring into his glass.

“Hmm,” she leers at him. “What else can you give him control of?” She waggles her eyebrows.

“How many versions of me do you want to bed? You are already married to the superior version,” he smiles slightly.

“They’re all you aren’t they? So technically..?” She hopes he doesn’t take any of this seriously.

“Only if I am allowed the same liberties, aduna.”

* * *

A half-bottle of wine behind them, Chris fusses in the kitchen, everything’s got to be spotless in Vulcan households.

“Husband,” she says, “good thing I can sleep late tomorrow.”

“Not too late. We must begin work. The ambassador would see his former shipmates. His urgency is my own. I wonder what did happen to them before,” he says.

She shrugs. “Maybe he’s a worrywart.”

“Christine,” his expression sombre, “how often have you watched history repeat itself?”

“Hasn’t happened yet, if at all. We have help, we’re already ahead.” She wills the gnawing anxiety away.

“Forewarned is forearmed. Tomorrow, if you would contact Kirk, Scotty and the others?”

She puts her hand up, in a ‘not to worry’ gesture. “I’ll corral as many of them together as I can, then work on the stragglers.” She smiles, eyelids heavy from drink, wearing a warm lazy expression. “They’ll wonder what the hell is wrong with us if we don’t plan this for weeks or months into the future.”

“No, Christine, not that far into the future. We will visit them one by one, if necessary.”

“Right, meanwhile neglecting our family here,” she says.

“Invite everyone here, we will work out extra accommodations once we know, and while our family is away the mountain will come to Mohammed: Earth. We simply will not take ‘no’ for an answer-“

“...until someone takes out a restraining order. There’s only so much urging I can do, without providing reasons,” she says. “If grandpa-katra knows something, that might activate incendiaries under posteriors. I can make up falsehoods about some galactic threat, then claim corrupt info sources. Because what could go wrong?”

“Christine, contact them, tell them we ‘miss them’, work from there. Where is the anti-tox?” He’s grown used to ignoring her language mangling.

“Never fear, any good girl scout worth her salt has a stash of anti-tox. There’s a dozen packets in the drawer next to my side of the bed, sweets.” She takes a purposely ample swig of wine, then refills her glass. She leans the spout his way. “More?”

He holds his glass out for her. He is never a heavy drinker but the ambassador’s rattled his nerves somewhat, close on the heels of a failed meditation session. He may have the ambassador guide his session in the morning, secrets be damned. The katra chimes in.

Ambassador: _//Spock-am, you are foolish if you think I cannot slip through your memories at will, especially as you grow intoxicated. It is illogical to consume alcoholic beverages to intoxication.//_

Commander: _//Even so, my meditation?//_ He blows off the ambassador’s admonition.

Ambassador: _//I will help you, despite your wilful consumption of alcohol the night before your morning meditation.//_

Commander: _//Is my alcohol consumption affecting you?//_

Ambassador: _//I am in your mind, am I not?//_

Commander Spock downs the rest of his wine then shoves his glass towards his wife.

“Someone nagging you in there, husband? Time to send Ambassador Gramps to the old folk’s home,” she mutters, deliberately overfilling his glass.

Ambassador: _//Your logic is uncertain where your wife is concerned, an unfortunate side effect of marriage to a human. Moreso in your case, Captain Spock playing Svengali to your Trilby. Most irregular.//_

Commander: _//Not now, Ambassador.//_

Ambassador: _//As you wish.//_ With that, the elder Vulcan raises his shields, his katra fading to a grey shadowy blob again.

Christine waits patiently for her husband to be done with his fugue.

“Christine, I _must_ meditate in the morning. I have not been able to think clearly since we left San Francisco.”

“Welcome back. You sure it’s not-“

“No, Christine. It is never the pon farr. If it were, you would already know.” He gives his version of an eyeroll.

“Ok, no more ‘is it pon farr’.” She’s reminded of times she was asked if her mood was due to her period, she understands his exasperation. There’s never any hiding menses from a Vulcan anyway, she’s never suffered having him ask.

“There’s enough going on to account for your lack of concentration. Got it. I will make you breakfast that’ll keep, and leave you alone. I’ll work on our friends,” she says, getting up to use the facilities.

Switching the light on in the room, cold shock washes over as she sees it in the mirror over the basin. That damned bearded grotesque of Captain Spock, gazing in from the hallway. Some pathetic corner of her wishes it- -no he- -would talk to her. _To her_ , in a way that she’d know if it was really _him_.

“Fuck, not in the mood,” she mutters, averting her gaze from the mirror, she sweeps the door shut, then hurriedly concentrates on her immediate business. “Leave me alone.”

Washing her hands, she risks another glance in the mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary, she dries her hands, decides to take a shower with her husband before bed.

Returning to the kitchen without further incident, she ignores the question in Spock’s expression as she decides one more glass of wine and no more would be about perfect.

“Christine, were you startled?”

“Happens occasionally. Trick of the light,” she concentrates on blinking to see where motes floating on the surface of her eyeballs scatter to and fro.

He’s loathe to discuss this with her, fearing a spike in ‘paranormal activity’ in her head, if her visual hallucinations are caused by what he suspects. The practise is from before the time of Surak, its use is almost unheard of anymore- -in universes where Vulcans are sane.

He will have to bring a Vulcan healer to her, without her consent. She will resist. The healer will then not treat her. He feels useless to help his wife without breaching a cardinal rule of Vulcan ethics.

Again, the ambassador is conveniently absent when he needs his advice.

Commander: _//Ambassador!//_

He watches her pour another glass of wine. He decides it’s enough.

He will stop her reaching the bottle if she tries again. They’ll go directly to bed, to sleep, their shower can wait until morning. It isn’t late but mood’s shot.

He will keep her near and watch over her.

* * *


	22. Family Values

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind as I forget how to spell T’Stasht’s name throughout the duration of the fic. I meant it to be vaguely reminiscent of ‘Anastasia’, but it doesn’t flow.

_(Lyrics:_ _Robin Williamson / Robin D.H. Williamson,_ _The Circle Is Unbroken lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc._ )

**Shikahr, Vulcan 2274**

”What are you sketching, T’Ara?” Amanda peers over her grand-daughter’s shoulder, attempting to discern any recognisable pattern.

“Nothing yet, Grandmother. Just practising,” she replies. Relief, she’d feared offending the child.

T’Ara shades in one of the armorphous blobs she’s sketched earlier. A first sketch that will not be proudly displayed on the chiller.

Spock strolls in, glances at his daughter’s sketch, and decides discretion is the better part of valour.

“Spock,” his mother says, peering up into her son’s face, “are you going to town later?”

“Yes, after lunch. Christine and T’Stasht are finished gathering vegetables, they should return soon,” he says.

His mother stands to greet him. He wraps his arm around her and draws her to him, burying his nose in her neck. _”T’nash-veh Ko-mekh,”_ he whispers. ‘My Mother.’  
She kisses his sleek black hair.

“Oh, my son, I’ve missed you so,” she says, reaching up to cup his cheek.

Spock senses joy radiating from the ambassador’s katra as it reacts the presence of the mother he’d thought lost forever. The tidal wave of the ambassador’s unfettered emotions erode his own controls. He fights the urge to tears. “Excuse me, Mother.”

He hurries into the hallway to the small washroom to compose himself. Later, he rejoins his mother and daughter.

She mouths words to him. _The lyre?_  
He nods. “This afternoon.”

Christine and T’Stasht are back, drawing everyone except T’Ara, who’s lost in her sketchwork, to the kitchen. Christine thinks of this place as a kitchen with a house attached.

Normally, Amanda would pitch in, but the two have it well in hand. Besides, she’s weary from the trip.

“Have you found one you think will suit?” Amanda asks him, still talking around the lyre Spock wants for his daughter.

“I have not called ahead, no. We will enquire at the luthier’s nearby, Mother.”

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“I would not wait for us,” he says. Sarek will be home tomorrow, he will expect them to share last meal with family.

Tonight, he will take his wife out to dinner in Shikahr’s tourist district so that she may indulge her inner carnivore.

He joins his wife at the counter when T’Stasht leaves on an errand. “You have fared well?” He breathes deeply, enjoying the complex mixtures of scents emanating from her.

She rolls her eyes. “Left messages, mostly. Got hold of Ny, Jan and Len. Waiting to hear back from the others.”

“Mr Scott is on standby as well. Soon, aduna. Soon, our efforts will pay off,” he says, leaning over kiss her noble brow. “Where do you want to eat dinner?”

“The Abattoir,” she says.

He winces; she wants the full on carnivore experience: the free range cattle, swine, and fowl; the butchery of sentient life-forms, the blood, the carcasses, the organ meats, stench of smoking flesh. ‘Farm to plate’ is the movement that inspired the restaurant.

The establishment had to be set some ways outside of Shikahr proper in order to receive its licence, where prevailing winds and watercourses convey treated effluvium away from town, and that only after every useful part of the animal had been utilised.

He’s not sure he would be caught dead in that restaurant.

“...but I’ll settle for Insight.” She laughs, watching relief settle over his features. “I would never do that to you, adun.”

She smiles as T’Stasht breezes into the kitchen with two gunny sacks from the larder. The girl spares Christine a glance as she passes the couple and places her burdens on a small table at the end of the counter.

 _Physically_ , T’Stasht, is twenty standard earth years of age; Chris calls bullshit. Her intuition tells her that T’Stasht serves nominal capacities for appearances’ and efficiency’s sake. * _What’s her real calling?_ Chris’ mindvoice nags? The unbonded Vulcan female is the most significant figure in the household, Christine’s convinced, despite T’Stasht claiming to be the Lady Amanda’s lady-in-waiting, general servant and cook.

It’s sufficient to know that Christine’s never seen the entire property in the years she’s been here, she’s only ever seen a fraction of the staff, and it’s easier than it looks to lose one’s bearings. T’Stasht is her guide and protector to the mysteries of the family’s Shikahr holdings.

Christine replays another memory: 

_T’Stasht’s first words to her, spat contemptuously, were that if the woman insisted on hovering and following her everywhere, that she keep close to her lest she might learn something._

_No problem, Christine had said, sneering as she deliberately invaded the girl’s personal space. They could feel the other’s breaths as they engaged in their weird little stare-down. *Break contact, Chris willed the girl. She moved closer, forcing the Vulcan to take a step back. *Look away, Chris thought. She stepped forward once more, trapping the Vulcan against the wall of the springhouse._

_T’Stasht, returning her sneer, darted in closer and flicked her tongue from the bottom of the woman’s lip to the tip of her nose._

_*What the..? Adrenaline surged as she’d gripped the girl’s face, pinning the girl with her body as she’d sucked the girl’s mouth, pressing her lips across hers, whipping her head back and forth in an effort to drive her lips apart, demanding entrance. T’Stasht relaxed her jaw, allowing this strange creature to probe her mouth with her tongue for awhile._

_Satisfied, Christine stepped back, giving the girl room to manoeuvre._

_Without a word, they’d grabbed their baskets and left the springhouse._

“Christine,” Spock says. At the sound of his finger snap, she blinks herself back to the present, suppressing the tingling in her groin the memory invokes, then moves to set plates at the table, while T’Stasht places a batch of beans in a large bowl to soak overnight.

The unmistakable sounds of plates and silverware clattering bring the others to their places at the table.

* * *

Fresh from their shower together, Spock and Chapel are in their separate dressing rooms preparing for their trip to town. She’s in her shower robe at the vanity setting out her hairpins when T’Shasht floats in and pads behind her, shutting the doors to the hallway and Spock’s room.

“Lady Amanda has sent me to assist you,” she says, removing the woman’s hands from her own hair, gathering it up swiftly and pinning it before Chris can protest.

“You hardly need make your face up.” She steps around her and applies sunscreen, then mascara and shading. Grabbing the earrings Chris has already set out, she fixes them to the woman’s ears. From a hidden pocket in her robe, T’Stasht produces a starkly beautiful pendant. She attaches it to Christine’s neck and adjusts the placement of the silver-lustred metal to rest at the top of the woman’s cleavage.

“Direct Spock to take you to the family tailor and procure at least one silk gown in the early 19th century pattern, with matching wrap, head-dress, leather-soled half boots, and slippers with a very low heel, or none at all. The slippers will not withstand a stroll outdoors but will be fine for indoor receptions,” T’Stasht instructs her.

“Right, so channel my inner Jane Austen,” Christine murmurs, lost in the girl’s hazel eyes.

“The gown should come in a set, but make certain the elements I have listed are present. You must prepare now for the time when it is your duty to reflect your house’s honour alone as the Lady Christine,” T’Stasht chides.

“Well, when you put it like that..,” Christine mutters. T’Stasht stuffs a silk kerchief into the woman’s mouth. “Pfft,” she spat it out.

“T’Stasht, what the hell?” Chris snatches the pretty silk cloth that T’Stasht has brought and moves her hand away to her side. “Mine now.” She doesn’t mean just the silk kerchief she’s palmed.

T’Stasht ignores her as she blots the woman’s brow to prevent the inevitable sheen of sweat from appearing, then without preamble, slips the woman’s robe off her shoulders.

Chris is suddenly naked as the Vulcan fusses behind her, gathering undergarments that she drapes over the chair next to them.

She kneels and urges Chris to step into her underwear, then rising, she pulls the underwear up to the human’s waist. T’Stasht leans against Christine’s bosom deliberately as she reaches for the bra draped behind her. Chris’ breath catches as the girl fits the bra to her, fixing it at the back. Christine risks a quick embrace and kiss, then releases the girl.

The girl reaches for the woman’s slip, guides it over her head, then walks to the bed and returns with the robe. Settling the robe onto her shoulders, she lets it fall in folds down to her feet, then checks to see if it’s centred.

Chris, noticing the pendant T’Stasht wears, leans closer as she tries to make out the inscription engraved on the silvery metal. It is a twin to the one T’Stasht has placed on her. The girl steps away from her.

T’Stasht fetches the soft sandles and laces them up over Christine’s calves.  
She reaches into the drawer of the vanity, grabbing several hypos of tri-ox, two she places to the side, the third she injects her with.

Christine touches up her make-up, dabbing and blending, brushing a very light bit of faintly glitter copper mascara onto her lids. T’Stasht’s inspects her work. It’s barely discernible.

“Always take at least two tri-ox hypos anywhere you go, including the property. I have rarely noticed you treating yourself,” T’Stasht scolds.

“Yes, mom,” she mumbles as she applies a light gloss with moisturiser to her lips.

T’Stasht reaches into a deep drawer in the end table next to the bed, and removes one of Chris’ medical kits. Bringing it over to the wardrobe, she adds the hypos. She takes two bottles of water from the small chiller and stands them up next to the pile.

Christine reaches for her ray bans and sets the case on top of the medikit.

T’Stasht unlocks the two doors and leaves them ajar. She fetches a wrap and places it near the medikit. “It will be cold tonight.”

Spock enters with a larger travel bag and wordlessly collects the items on the wardrobe. He takes in his wife’s appearance and smiles slightly.

“You are ready?”

“Yes, I think so, Spock.” She smiles and nods towards T’Stasht, then follows her husband to where the flitter is waiting.

* * *

Spock parks the flitter within walking distance of the Luthier’s. In the cargo area are several wrapped parcels to add to Christine’s wardrobe, as per T’Stasht’s suggestions.

He steps around the flitter as his wife steps out, and leads the way down the pedestrian path.

It is a block and a half away, while he could have parked closer he thinks it’s better to walk a little of the way than none at all.

“Spock, how old is T’Stasht really?” She already knows he won’t give a straight answer if what she suspects is true.

“She is twenty,” he replies, glancing at the pendant around his wife’s neck.

“How old is her katra?”

“It is twenty-“

“...and how many score more?” She glares.

“I do not know, Christine.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t tell. Would you?”

“I would not. There are things that are not discussed.” He purses his lips. One more block to go.

“Alright. If you’d indulge me,” she begins, glancing at the shops across the street, then at those in their path, “speaking hypothetically, of course. Or not. Or,- -not sure how to ask this. Ok, so I was just wondering if, y’know, and I get it if you can’t give me a simple answer-“

“Christine, for the love of Surak, get to the point,” he pleads, stopping them on the pavement, as if he thinks the effort of walking and forming coherent sentences at the same time is too much for her.

She takes a deep breath, slows down her delivery. “It isn’t outside the realm of possibility, is it? That there are Vulcans among us who are enkatra’d.., say, with the synaptic pattern images of people who’ve lived and died many years ago?”

He pauses, as she’s expected him to.  
His pauses speak volumes.

* _Score another one for Christine._ She mentally pats herself on the back, then wonders what Spock’s been smoking, that he’s willing to not-answer her questions in his way that tells her ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

“What you have said is reasonable,” he replies, regretting the lack of a medical tricorder to scan her with. He’s never understood why she slips into addled-minded teen-speak at odd times.

On the other hand, he’s not sure he hasn’t been manipulated; that she hasn’t used the ‘flustered Christine’ acting routine to lull him into revealing more than he’s intended to.

They’ve arrived at the Luthier’s.

She detects the sweet scents of sawdust, varnishes and neatsfoot-type oils. The showroom, however, is spotless. The environmentals are set to cooler than normal, and dry.

A clerk greets them. “Osu? T’Sai?” He nods, acknowledging the woman’s known relationship to the famous Vulcan.

“I am seeking a lyre or harp appropriate for a child under the age of ten.”

“There, Osu.” He points to another room off to the right in the back.

The clerk shows them a range of lyres along the right wall.

“A second-level, if you would.”

The clerk begins removing lyres sized in the middle of the range, and places them beside a chair.

Spock prepares them one after the other, tuning the first lyre, then tuning the next one. Going back to the first, he runs through several scales, then plays bits and pieces of tunes.

He fine tunes them once more, then sets them aside to inspect the Terran-style harps displayed along the back wall of the shop.

The clerk indicates the harps in a row along the right. “If you want the same in a harp, there are these ones, Osu.”  
The clerk places another chair close by.

Spock chooses three of them, setting them up the same as he did the lyres, then lets them rest.

He returns to the lyres and plays them, rejecting one, which the clerk returns to the display. He tests the others in turn, until he’s satisfied, and gestures to the clerk who takes the lyre to another room to prepare for transport.

By the time the clerk has returned, Spock’s found a harp he’s satisfied with.

While the clerk is busy with the harp, Christine pulls one of the larger harps away from the others, pulls a chair over and begins tuning. Spock raises an eyebrow. She winks at him.

She plucks the intro to an old folk tune, accompanying herself with a fine alto. His eyebrow climbs higher. Her voice is strong and clear:

_Seasons they change while cold blood is raining_   
_I have been waiting beyond the years_   
_Now over the skyline I see you're traveling_   
_Brothers from all time gathering here_   
_Come let us build the ship of the future_   
_In an ancient pattern that journeys far_   
_Come let us set sail for the always island_   
_Through seas of leaving to the summer stars_

The clerk’s wandered in during the fourth verse, coming to rest next to her husband. He doesn’t carry the air of faint disapproval in the way that Vulcans almost always seem to.

Spock looks as though someone’s cast a glamour over him. He stares at her after she’s finished, as if to say, ‘is that it?’

“There’s more to the song, if that’s what your look means, Spock. I’m rusty, out of practise, though.”

She stands, preparing to return the harp. Spock places a hand on it, stopping her. “Do you desire the harp?”

“Oh, no I was just seeing if-“

“Christine. Do you wish to have the harp? Or one of the others?”

She chose the harp based on the reputation of a centuries-old maker, because she’d played them for years, because it was expensive and they wouldn’t be purchasing it. She hesitates for so long that Spock interprets it as ‘yes’.

“We will take the harp,” Spock informs the clerk.

“Very good, Osu. T’Sai.” The clerk carefully but quickly bears the harp away before they decide to change their minds.

“Spock, that harp is thirty-thousand credits!”

“I know, Christine,” he says, as if humouring a child. “We can afford it.” He turns to inspect instruments to the left, as if to indicate that the matter is settled. “I suggest you procure extra strings and other accessories while we are here. Perhaps a stand like that one, and a seat?”

“Yes, sir,” she murmurs absentmindedly. She chooses all of those things as well as a kit to preserve the woodwork, and a hardshell carrying case.

The flitter stuffed with cargo, they return home feeling warm and contented, caught in a shared vision, they see in their minds’ eyes the notion of a bright future stretch forth over the horizon, to the stars and beyond; its path, by way of the scenic route, across space-time past the Great Barrier to the Galactic Barrier; Christine suspects she’s intoxicated. Spock enjoys the images he reads from their bond. It’s whimsical but provides counterpoint to the vague anxieties that have ruled them the last few days.

Parking the flitter, they take their time as they stroll up the walk to the front door. Servants unseen will transfer their bags and purchases into the home as the couple allow themselves to wind down for the evening.

By the time they’ve finished their shower, their cargo awaits them on the far side of the room they share.

Christine, wrapped in robe and turbaned towel, walks over to unpack and set up the harp. Her husband prepares the gifts he’s bought for his daughter. He tunes them again, then rests them securely.

He unpacks the bag they use for flitter trips, then sits to observe his wife, who has set up the harp and ornately-carved wooden stool in the corner.

He recalls the locket she wore earlier. He strides over to her vanity and inspects the locket’s inscription, suddenly raising his shields a micro-second before broadcasting his reaction. * _She cannot possibly believe that Christine is suited to this..._ , he says inwardly, leaving the crucial role un-named.

He reminds himself that T’Stasht’s ways were always inscrutable and unpredictable; a trait that helped her survive and thrive the dark times before Surak. Against the majority, she’s never hesitated to be critical of the deeply ingrained adoration of the planet’s hero, Surak - earning her the label one of history’s notorious heretics.

* _Yet here she ministers in the house of Surak_ , he muses.

T’Stasht is under no obligation to explain to anyone the rationale behind her decision. He knows he will tie himself into knots trying to discern her rationale- -her intent. She has always scolded him about his expectation that others behave in ways that make sense.

* _The universe does not care about our urges to categorise and put it in an order that makes sense to us, Spock,_ she’s often reminded him.

Spock sits across from his wife, she is like a child having unwrapped the last present on Christmas morning, the one she never expected to receive.

Christine retunes the harp, lost in the realisation that this instrument is hers. She fondles the smooth expertly varnished wood, the fanciful carvings at and beautiful pearl inlays.

Once again, her husband is attuned instinctively to her intent, to her great joy. These moments have always meant little confirms that they’ve chosen well, they’re close to the right path, with sufficient _helpers_ they will ultimately succeed in their endeavour. Despite often forgetting what their shared goals are.

“Christine, did T’Stasht say anything about the locket she gave you?”

She shrugs. “No, there wasn’t much time, I guess. What about it?”

“All I can tell you is pay attention to what she tells you, even if the information seems minor,” he replies.

“Oh boy,” she says. “So she’ll assign me to swab toilets with my toothbrush or something, and I’ll achieve enlightenment at three in the morning after I’ve exhausted myself beyond rational thought?”

His lips tick up, she at least understands that what T’Stasht does and says isn’t as irrelevant as it appears.

“She rarely does or says anything meaningless. Take note of your surroundings and let your subconscious sort out events,” he says, “she has little patience for questions. Do not offer her what you are sure is a puzzle sorted, she will sweep the puzzle to the floor.”

“You’ve probably said too much, my husband,” she mutters with a wry smile.

“Indeed, t’hy’la. And she knew I would,” he returns his own version of her smile.

“There’s no right way to do it right, except to seem not to be doing it all,” she says, turning back to her harp. “How does this fit into the scheme of things, Spock,” she says.

“The harp wished to be yours.”

“Riiiight, what are we doing here and why is it taking so long?” She’s restless again.

He considers. “If you wish, we will take a short flitter trip with two tricorders, and transport to 2400 in a different timeline.”

“Ops. You must put ten credits in the swear jar each time you say the word ‘timeline.’”


	23. Chapter 23

“Even so, we have put it off long enough. We will return by three hours ago.” He lifts her by her elbow and urges her out of the house to the flitter. After a twenty minutes ride, he parks the flitter in a flat spot surrounded by mountaintops.

Reaching into one of those endless secret pockets in his robe, pulls out a device smaller than a communicator. His fingers fly over the keys faster than she can ask what he’s doing.

In front of them, an entrance appears. They get out of the flitter and walk through the entrance into the first bay. Christine senses that the business part of the mad scientist’s lair is elsewhere, despite this room bursting with all manner of strange technology.

He grabs two tricorders and a knapsack, and hands her a sidebag. “Put this under your collar,” he orders, handing her a small disk.

She follows him to a part of the bay where a series of transporter pads of varying designs are installed. He begins programming coordinates into one of the consoles in front of a six person transporter, then urges Christine up on the platform with him.

**San Francisco, Prime Timeline, 2400**

Suddenly she’s on some sort of outdoor public transporter, it’s morning and apparently a weekday, judging by the activity.

“Come,” he pulls her along behind him.

“This is foolish, Spock,” she whispers, “someone will at least recognise _you_.”

“I am called ‘Selek’, and you are called ‘Kari,’” he mutters. “I have been told there will have been multiple sightings of us. It is best to do this in full view of everyone.”

”Kinky.”

They enter a low-security academy library and make their way to the back, nodding glibly to the attendant who seems to _recognise them._

“Spock, how many times have you been here before?!” she hisses, noticing various patron’s reactions.

“Shhh. Quiet in the library,” he scolds. “Here,” he says quietly. * _We communicate like this in here, Kari._

“Pfffft,” she replies, sitting in the cubicle beside him. * _Half the library recognised you, Spock._

* _My burden,_ he mind-says, unconcerned as he gains unauthorised access to starfleet databases. * _Give me a tricorder._

She hands him a tricorder, takes the other and types in general search for news reports going back to 2150, selects a site, requests the results to download into a diskette instead of transmitting the download into the tricorder.

“Sir. Ma’am.” Chris starts, turns around, and sees the face of a mature Vulcan female with fever bright eyes and an unreadable expression.

“You have us at a disadvantage, Miss..?”

She sits in the cubicle next to Spock. “You are Spock, are you not?”

* _Told you someone would recognise you,_ Chris admonishes.

“Perhaps, but I am called Selek,” he replies to the stranger.

“So you are Spock.”

“I have neither confirmed nor denied-“

“Save it. I know who used that name when he wanted to hide his identity. His name was Spock. You. You do not recognise me because our paths have not crossed yet.” She looks sympathetically at Christine. “You are familiar to me as well. Commander Chapel? It would seem you have an extraordinarily long lifespan,” she smirks.

“‘Commander?!’”

“Look, Miss-“ he began.

“Finish breaching whatever databases you are working on. I will wait.”

She moves to sit next to Christine.

“Whatever you are doing, wherever you are going, take me with you. Spock is the closest thing to a father to me. He was reported missing in 2387.”

Spock senses deep affection and amusement from the katra.

“I do not think it would be wise, Miss?”

“Saavik. And I do think it wise, because I have been waiting for you and doing your homework for you.” She nods towards her duffel. “In there. How long are we going to sit here and wait to be caught?” She looks at Spock, then Christine.

“Let’s go,” Christine starts to pack.

“In thirty seconds I will have this folder transferred,” Spock says. Finished, he packs the tricorder and works to cover their tracks in the system.

Saavik stands. “I would not concern yourself with hiding your trail now.”

“Why?” he asks, joining the other two. They quietly walk towards the exit.

“Because there are sightings of you two everywhere. They probably mention it in Starfleet Academy Temporal Mechanics course. It is probably part of the tourist brochures here, like the Ghost Walk Tours: ‘Visit San Francisco for a chance to catch a glimpse of the ghosts of Spock and Chapel.’”

“This way,” Spock says, leading them to the public transporters with a sense of urgency.

Inside the structure housing the transporter pads, he hands Chris and Saavik one small metallic device each. “It is preset. Press ‘Initialise’ on three.”

* * *

**Vulcan, un-named timeline, 2274**

“Spock, we could have beamed right from the library,” Chris says, knowing it an unwise idea.

Spock, ignoring her, takes the portable transporters, transponders and replaces them in their storage lockers. He slings the bag with their tricorders and leads them out of the side of the mountain to the flitter.

Chris looks at the face of the mountain where the entrance is cloaked, committing the details to memory. Saavik loads her duffel into the back and slides into a rear seat.  
They lift up and out, taking a deliberately roundabout course home.

“I am called Saavik. If there is any part of you that knew me, he will recognise the young girl he rescued from Hellguard in the face of this elderly Romulan,” their guest says to Spock.

“Hi, Saavik. I’m Christine, or Chris, whatever you choose to call me,” she says, smiling.

“Hello, Chris,” the Romulan returns.

“I carry Ambassador Spock’s katra,” he says, “but as usual, the ambassador prefers to enjoy the spectacle of our uncertainty rather than intervene and interfere with the source of his entertainment.”

She smiles, “It is good to know he never loses his sense of mischief.”

Christine twists around to face Saavik. “What were you saying about sightings everywhere? That we were extremely sloppy?”

“Perhaps experience showed that carrying out missions in ‘broad daylight’ worked in your favour somehow. I daresay it was decided to ‘look the other way,’ as if they had came to conclusion that you were on secret missions from the future. I can offer no explanation.”

She stares at Chapel. “You two are together? Do you stay at the family residence in Shikahr?”

“Yes, and yes.” Seeing the unasked question in the Romulan’s eyes, she adds, “sounds like you knew them. It’s 2274, and they’re still alive.”

“...And,” Saavik prompts.

“We’re in a different timeline?”

“Alright. Someone can brief me later,” Saavik says.

“Yes, dear god thank you lord Jesus,” Christine looks up and raises her hands together in thanks.

Saavik laughs. “I take it you’re weary of certain subjects.”

“It gets a little intense sometimes.” She turns to her husband, “Where will she stay, Spock?”

“If Amanda is up she usually handles those arrangements,” he replies.

“She usually has warning, Spock.” She rolls her eyes.

She turns back to Saavik. “It isn’t a problem, I just wanted to see how far he’s thought ahead. So there may be a version of you here that Spock has to rescue. Do you remember details?”

“Ambassador Spock would be the one to ask,” she says, shrugging. “He filled in the cracks of my backstory since I did not know my parents, age, or where I was.”

“Alright. What about this ‘you’? What’s your plan? To stay here or return to ‘that other place?’” Christine asks.

Saavik laughs, “I am not committing myself yet, you understand, but I foresee taking on another identity, and if there is room for me, I would like to help mentor her. Not necessarily as a parent but as a mysterious aunt or cousin.”

“If we do not need to preserve integrity here, then I would ask to be a member of the team; to play an active role. I have tried to collect as much data as I could using my access as a starfleet officer. Make room for me.” She smiles at Chapel. “No one knows me here, do they? Except for the ambassador. If you do not object, I offer access to my memories.”

“Saavik-am, that should not be necessary,” came the raspy careworn voice of the ambassador. “I will be your sponsor.”

“Oh, shut up,” Chris mumbles.

“I take it you and the ambassador have an interesting relationship,” Saavik says, hiding her smile.

“He talks to my husband, we don’t really interact,” Chris says.

“Untrue, Miss Chapel. You are not adept at recognising when I speak or act through your husband.”

“Act? Because if you’re driving when we’re intimate, I’m going to have words with someone,” she warns.

Saavik relaxes and enjoys their friendly bickering.

“Saavik, we will plan a trip to Hellguard. We are better equipped here than I was.”

“What do you mean ‘we’, Ambassador,” Chris narrows her eyes.

“‘We’ as in you, your husband, myself, Saavik, T’Stasht, and your husband’s associates. We are a team. Old friends should be arriving soon from the Enterprise crew,” the ambassador says with stolen vocal cords.

“T’Stasht?” Chris wonders how much the katra knows about the ‘mysterious third’.

“Yes, T’Stasht. Your almost-lover and guide,” he says. “If you think any information about her plans are to be gained through me, you will be disappointed.”

“Hmmph,” she crosses her arms.

“Saavik, are you certain you want to start all over again here?”

“Yes, I think so. It is as though a devastating plague swept through that other dimension. By the time I had resolved to wait near starfleet headquarters for two notorious time travellers, there was little left to anchor me,” Saavik felt as if she’d aged one hundred years since the late 2380’s.

“We may see those tragedies repeat themselves,” the ambassador says.

“That is silly. We already know what happens. We just need to get the right people to believe us,” Saavik replies, confidently. Christine feels renewed optimism in the face of the Romulan’s determination. Her eyes glisten, she is so tired pretending that she thinks everything will work out.

She wipes a tear away. She hates feeling like she’s in the eye of a huge storm, where it’s a sunny day with pleasant breezes, when just over there the worst half of the storm is coming their way- -there’s no mistake that it’s coming for _them_ , their little crew of ex-starfleet officers, dead Vulcans, Romulan orphans, and who else? Mirror counterparts...she’s sure they visit often, probably in that cloaked hideout. She is so tired.

They’re here. Home. The merry little band step from the flitter, Saavik shouldering her duffel, Spock with his burden of transporter-ware, she with her growing feelings of vague anxiety.

“Christine, please introduce my mother to Saavik,” he says as he darts into their bedroom.

“Yes, dear,” she turns to the Romulan. “You already know the way, don’t you?”

Saavik smiles. “She is either in the garden or kitchen area.”

Chris sees T’Stasht in the kitchen first, smiles at the sight of the lovely girl.

“Christine,” the girl glances over to her, allowing her a small smile, “come introduce.”

“Saavik, meet T’Stasht.”

“T’Stasht.” Saavik nods.

“Saavik,” T’Stasht grasps Saavik’s little finger then releases it.

* _That’s odd_ , Christine thinks.

Chris joins her at the counter, T’Stasht turns to her, gazing into her blue eyes with her amber eyes as she lifts a large sticky piece of fruit to the human’s mouth. Her gaze never wavering, Christine bites a piece, chews as she watches T’Stasht bite into the piece behind it.

T’Stasht very slowly leans in and kisses the woman’s lips, “Amanda is in the vid room,” she murmurs against her lips.

“Thanks,” Chris says, somewhat breathlessly as she turns to find her mother-in-law.

“That was hot,” Saavik murmurs as she follows her.

Chris glances at her, “Do you remember her from-?”

“Daughter, we have a guest?” Amanda says, bringing her attention back to ground. Chris gives her a hug, kissing her cheek once, then twice.

For some reason, everything is so sensual here. Amanda smiles knowingly at the younger woman. There are things she can’t tell her. Not yet.

“Yes, Mother. She is a very close friend whose relationship I can’t explain. Lady Amanda, this is Saavik,” Chris says, apologies in her expression.

Amanda laughs, “Oh my darling, you’d be surprised how used to it I am.” She turns to the Romulan, “Welcome to our home, Saavik. I’ve a feeling you’re going be staying for awhile. Put down your duffel, make yourself at home in here or have something to eat or drink in the kitchen,” Amanda brushes her hand across Saavik’s forearm.

“I am so pleased to meet you, Amanda,” Saavik grasps the woman’s hand in hers to let her know it is alright with her.

Amanda turns to arrange a room for her visitor.

“That was an unusual experience,” Saavik admits. “She was never that young when I knew her. To answer your earlier question, no. Not by the time I was brought there. There were rumours about some ancient Vulcan priestess who’d-. Oh.” Saavik covers her lips with her fingers, turning to face Christine.

Christine smiles to let her know she isn’t surprised. “I suppose you’re going to be as tight-lipped as an Aldeberan shellfish too,” Christine says, frustrated that Saavik had caught herself.

“It’s not that, Christine. You will know in time. There is something special about you. That’s all I know,” she says, without guile.

“It is what it is. To the kitchen?” Chris asks.

“After I drop off my duffel in my room,” Saavik says. “Never mind, I will wait in the kitchen.” She laughs. “Spock’s dumped us,” she says, dropping her duffel next to the hallway.

“He’s meditating or clearing his room for you,” Chris offers.

“He would never give up that room. Too close to the bedroom you share. There are plenty of spare rooms, Christine.”

T’Stasht shoots a strange glance at their new guest, then waves Christine over as Saavik pretends to look at furnishings.

Christine follows her into a small pantry at the end of the kitchen. Shutting the door behind them, she turns to Christine and urges her to sit on the tall table off to the side. “If you wish.”

Christine boosts herself up and sits, her long legs dangling. T’Stasht leans against her, between her legs and wraps her arms around the woman’s torso, lifting her mouth for Christine to kiss. They linger that way for awhile, their kisses punctuated by murmurs, breathy groans and playful smacking sounds.

T’Stasht pulls away. “I did not bring you here to arouse you then try to manipulate you for information, I wished to taste of you, to spend a few moments alone with you,” she says.

“I am aware of your missions to those other realms, and times, and what you wish to accomplish. I am aware of Ambassador Spock, I have known him for a long time. I am aware of Captain Spock and your counterpart. Nothing has been held back from me because of the link I share with the family. I have offered my assistance in my own way. I have _been_ for a very long time, as you suspected.”

Here she nuzzles Christine’s collarbone, then unbuttons the woman’s tunic until she can reach her breasts.

“Saavik is known to me, too. If she has relocated here to shepherd her younger self, I want to join the mission,” T’Stasht says. “I am telling you this because I want you to tell the others. I cannot say why but I can be of assistance. There are things I cannot say until events unfold a certain way.”

She nuzzles between Christine’s breasts, gently sucking her right nipple. She squeezes and pinches the other one before covering it with her mouth, flicking her tongue across the moist bud, then gently blowing hot breath over it.

“They will know why I asked you to tell them, Christine.” She peers up into Christine’s eyes, which are nearly grey with arousal. “Ok,” Christine whispers.

The sound of voices find them, so they kiss and slide their hands over one another one last time, then the girl rebuttons Chris’ tunic.

“Let us go,” T’Stasht says. “They will smell what we did with each-other.”

Christine laughs and follows the girl out of the pantry.

“Nice of you two to join us,” Saavik teases. She’s already made herself at home, Amanda and Spock sharing a glass of wine with her at the bar.

“Wine,” Amanda offers the females, smiling at the languorous expressions of two females. “We must eat, drink, and make merry before Sarek returns.”

“Yes, please,” Christine glances at T’Stasht, ‘Do you want a glass’?

The girl accepts a glass and they sit at the bar, Christine next to Spock, T’Stasht next to Saavik.

“You’re going to give your daughter her gifts tomorrow, Spock?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Won’t you wait until Sarek arrives?”

He nods. “As you wish.” He takes a sip.

Saavik turns to T’Stasht, “I didn’t know you in that other place.”

“You mean the other timeline?” Amanda asks, laughing at three pairs of surprised eyes that turn to her. “You people think we don’t know you’ve been running a ring practically under our noses? Sarek is _very_ well connected.” There’s no censure in her tone.

“Well, now that we’ve got that out in the open,” Christine says in relief. “Indeed,” Spock mutters.

“As I’ve said,” Saavik continues, “I think I may have heard about you.”

“You heard about her,” T’Stasht says, “I do not know much about my twin. The only one here I know who can tell me is..” She glances meaningfully at Commander Spock.

“Go on,” Amanda urges, “for once don’t talk around me.”

Spock nods. T’Stasht looks at Amanda. “He holds the katra of his twin,” she says, without embellishment.

“You mean another one of him? A duplicate?”

“Not exactly. The Vulcan who the katra belonged to died well over century old,” T’Stasht says. “But yes, he was Spock, the son of your twin, Amanda.”

Amanda reaches for the bottle of wine. “So, why are people migrating from that other parallel universe?”

“Because they are aware it exists, and because they can,” Saavik replies this time. “If one is sufficiently well-connected and organised. It is no accident that two brilliant and famous scientists should be pioneers,” she smiles towards Spock and Chapel.

“It was not that simple,” Spock admits. “It may ultimately cost everything.”

Christine feels someone walk over her grave again, and curses her husband. He glances at her with a stricken expression.

Amanda worries over the haunted expressions in her children’s eyes. She worries about unintended consequences and psychological traumas that can’t be treated effectively now because they are traumas that belong to the future.

* * *

A small creature assaults him as he walks through the door.

“T’Ara,” he admonishes as he strokes his grand-daughter’s hair. “Control yourself, my child.”

She looks up into her grandfather’s face. “Grandmother got me stuff to draw and paint with.”

“I see, I will evaluate your art after I have greeted the others and am settled,” he promises.

She releases him and he heads to the kitchen. It is early afternoon, they’ve just finished eating. Christine, Amanda, T’Stasht and a guest are puttering about the kitchen area.

“Sarek,” Amanda glides towards him, her joy quiet, but evident.

Christine glances behind her then back, pretending not to have noticed.

T’Stasht doesn’t spare them a glance, though she moves closer to what only she refers to as the ‘tall, wild-eyed qomi’.

Saavik is staring at these facsimiles of her adopted grandparents, her mind off on a trip down memory lane. She pinches herself as she’s seen her human friends do.

Commander Spock walks in and urges Saavik over to Amanda and Sarek, introducing him. They exchange greetings as he tries to think of a way to explain why this person he’s never met is going to be living with them, when Sarek glances at him. * _I know, Spock-am._

Spock nods, and moves to stand next to his wife. She smiles for him and leans slightly against him for a moment. “I think those people we were trying to get together?” She widens her eyes, she means their former Enterprise shipmates; he doesn’t get it. 

“I think someone else is working on it. Several of them contacted the Vulcan Embassy,” she says, hoping he picks it up this time.

“Ah,” he casts a glance back at his parents chatting amicably with Saavik.

“We do not know for sure, however,” he says.

“No, we don’t, but now they know what we were trying to do,” she says, referring to his parents.

“I do not-“

“Spock,” she hisses, “it means they’re going to show up one afternoon or evening when we’ve been sent away from the house on some bogus mission. And Sarek can probably hear me,” she whispers harshly, exasperated.

T’Stasht, who was placing a new filter in the fresher, coughs and covers her lips with her fingers. Chris glares her direction, giving Spock a chance to retreat and hide with Saavik and his parents.

She sweeps errant wisps of chestnut hair away from her eyes as she walks out of the kitchen into her bedroom. Spock, seeing her exit, notes that her door is still open, a positive sign.

She sits behind the harp, willing her mood to dissipate. She’s on day three of her menses, and has lost patience with everyone and everything. Not wanting to poison her harp with her foul mood, she feels the pendant around her neck and and grabs a hypo of tri-ox, injects herself, throws two into a small shoulder bag with bottled water and a book.

She looks in on her daughter, a strange little thing who seems to prefer her own company. Not for the last time, Chris wonders if the one who sired her daughter is contacting her daughter somehow. An occasional prickling on the back of her neck tells her when he’s in the vicinity, but when she probes, the feeling dissipates. He shields her, she’s sorted this.

If she finds out her husband has meetings with mirror counterparts on the grounds, she will be furious. She needs air.

She steps outside the house and sets off towards the maze on the other end of the path, unaware of the wisp behind her.

Entering the maze through the traditional garden gate, she wanders down two sets of whorls into the maze, then sinks down on her favourite bench and clears her mind. She tries to open her mind to whatever forces want or care to contact it. She focusses on her breathing, closes her eyes, and sinks into a light doze. Or daze. She wakes to find a very old soul in the form of a beautiful young Vulcan beside her.

“Christine,” T’Stasht says, “If you are not careful, you will get what you want.”

Chris isn’t in the mood for her cryptic phrasings. She stares ahead, trying to rein in her roiling emotions.

“Your bearded lover arrives.”

Chris glances around. _Where?!_

T’Stasht sighs. Captain Spock sits beside her and peers across her at Christine. “I see you have gathered another of the old gang, Christine.”

She glares at him in disbelief. “How is it you just show up after I’ve been thinking about you?”

“In time, Christine. You will know why.”

“I’ll know what? Why everyone talks around a question? Why I’m told I’m important somehow, but not trusted to know what the hell is really going on?”

“Yes,” he replies, his expression implacable.

“Grrr,” she resists the urge to throw something.

“Patience, Christine. I would that you bear me a son next. He will be my heir.”

She stares at him in astonishment. “What? Is that supposed to be your version of a joke?” She shoots up off the bench.

“Inanna, sit down,” T’Stasht demands.

“I don’t want to sit down,” she buries her face in her hands, wandering in circles, her head pounding. Hands guide her back down to the bench she can’t see anymore.

“I’m sick of him. He melded with me without permission, he drugged and raped me, he impregnated me then stalked me in my sleep. He’s put something in my head to make me too scared to ask for help to make it go away, and he’s on the property. What’s next?”

She watches a tear drop from the edge of her nose into the blur of the ground she can’t see.

What is she doing on Vulcan in a dimension she wasn’t born in, with an alien for a husband, a child born of rape, on a bench with a dead girl, with the psychotic Vulcan who raped her, after an evening where she spent the morning in a place where she could have been arrested because she’s supposed to be dead?

She doesn’t know if she’s still alive or if she died back on the Enterprise. She’d died in a transporter malfunction, this is why she’ll spend eternity locked in with the technology that killed her.

She’s sweating but she’s cold. Maybe she’ll find warmth by cuddling with the pretty dead girl, she’s warm and tingly when she thinks of her.

That’s it! She’s never survived the five year mission. That would explain why she-.

“Inanna, come back to us,” T’Stasht implores. “This thought process is not helpful.”

She looks at her companion. She isn’t real, is she?

T’Stasht reaches over and pinches her arm. “Real.” Her lips tick up. “You are on the verge of collapse. Come back to the house and let me help you, Inanna.”

She can feel desire for her coming off the girl. She can’t feel anything from the duplicate Captain Spock sitting beside the girl. It wasn’t real, this mirror Spock is a projection.

“My name is Christine.”

“You remind me of Inanna. It is one of my names for you.”

“Where is Captain Spock?”

“Nearby, but you blasted him with his trespasses, and he fled,” she says. “He needed to hear it. Needed to hear it _from you._ He has been used to attacking you without rebuke.”

“But how is it he’s just suddenly here?! I get that he may have access to my thoughts, but...”

“Inanna, simplest explanation: he trafficks in exotic technologies,” the girl says. “There are many possible explanations, but few of them involve him being here in person just because he wishes to intimidate you.”

“Why are you here watching over me in place of my husband?”

“Because this is my remit.”

“Can you be more specific?”

The girl’s eyes are cold now.

“Christine, come to the house. Do not disobey me again.” She stands.

Christine decides she doesn’t want to find out what T’Stasht’s really capable of until she finds out who or what she really is. The woman stands and starts unsteadily towards the house.

She’s delirious and mumbling to herself by the time they reach the door. A worried Spock picks her up and carries to their bedroom, where he prepares an IV drip. “No, Spock. This is something else. Run your tricorder over her,” T’Stasht says. “I will set up the IV. Go,” she orders.

He digs for her medical tricorder and scans her. Nothing. Not even dehydrated.

T’Stasht has her own suspicions. “The lead chamber under the house, Spock. Bring her there, then we will work on shielding her up here. The lead was contained away from the inner room last century. We will not stay long, there is sufficient air for us to know whether or not she is under the malign influence of another.”

After packing several bags and informing Saavik of their intentions, Spock picks his wife up and follows T’Stasht to a smaller building attached to the main house, through a trap door down two flights of stairs. They make their way down rarely used passages to a heavy door. She keys the door open and shoves the door in.

Spock glances at the door with uncertainty. “The systems are tested yearly, Spock.”

She sets up two lights, then closes the door.

She lays out a bedroll. He places Chris gently onto it, then busies himself laying out the contents of the the medical supplies he’s gathered.

T’Stasht shakes the woman’s shoulder. “Christine?” She places her fingers on her temples and pushes into her mind. * _Inanna, wake up._

She sees the woman sitting at the edge of a pool dangling her feet in the water. The woman looks over at her, smiles seductively. * _Come sit, darling._

* _Not now. Your family is worried. Come, Inanna._

To Christine, the girl appears to be a god from folklore, glowing with unnatural light. She blinks.

The god said to never to disobey her. She pulls her feet from the pool and stands. She takes an uncertain step, then another, until she reaches the god, who takes hold of her and propels the woman out of her stupor.

T’Stasht retreats from the woman’s mind, then peers into her face.

Christine blinks against the lights they have set up. “What’s happened?”

She sees her husband watching her, worry etched into his weathered face. He looks to T’Stasht, who nods slightly. “It appears you were under psychic attack. You were delirious.”

“Oh,” she murmurs dumbly. “Why are there never any birds in the maze?”

Spock and T’Stasht look to each-other in confusion.

“It was him, I think,” says Christine, coherent again.

“Yes,” T’Stasht says. “I will send admonishment. His attack will have ended, but we will build defences against the next one.” She turns to Spock. “I must step outside for a moment. Prepare to return her back to the main house.”

“Yes, _Sim-re_.”

“Do not push your luck, Spock-am.”

She keys the door open, it slips open a fraction, she pulls it open just enough for her to slide her slight frame through, then closes it behind her.

“Spock, who is the stronger of the two? Captain Spock or T’Stasht?”

He smiles. “T’Stasht. This is why we do not tell you certain things, aduna.”

“What if he retaliates?” she asks meekly.

He shakes his head. “It would not be in his interests.”

He sees her lips forming the ‘o’ that will lead to the voiced interrogative, ‘why’. He leans his index finger across her lips to forestall her. “Do not revert to that little girl unless you wish to be referred to a mental health professional, Christine.”

“Why you-“

The door slips ajar, “Come,” T’Stasht demands.

“Are you able to walk, Christine?”

“I think so,” she says as she gathers herself and rises. “Et viola.”

He hands her the medikit, rolls the pallet into a tight coil, slides it back into its bag, then gathers the other bags. T’Stasht retrieves the lights. Pulling the door closed, they make their way back to the light of day.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock is well aware of Christine and T’Stasht’s liaisons, the pair are aware that he knows, and he doesn’t have a problem with their  
> relationship because he perceives no threat to his marriage.
> 
> Vulcans treat their women strangely.


	24. Psych Eval Abuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A partial contradictory psychiatric evaluation, with Carolina barbecue.
> 
> Chapel really should be in her 30’s but I couldn’t resist redacting a decade.

**Psychiatric Evaluation**

Patient Name: Chapel, Christine Elizabeth

Admission Date: 1 Dec 2274

Evaluating Provider: Maria LaRosa

Patient DOB: 1 January, 2249

**Identifying Information:**

> The patient is a 25-year-old married human female with a daughter, living with husband and extended family, who presented to Behavioural Health with some concerns. Patient was admitted voluntarily.

**Chief Complaints:** Patient believes they are deceased (Cotard’s Delusion)

**History of Present Illness:**

> Pertinent history in record.

**During assessment:**

> Patient describes their mood as depressed and indicated it has got worse in the last year.

> Patient self-esteem appears fair, no reported feelings of excess guilt, however patient reports sleep disturbances, excessive worries, panic attacks, hallucinations, and delusions.

> Patient does not report increased activity level, attention and concentration were observed to be within normal limits. Patient does not report symptoms of eating disorder. There is no recent weight loss or gain.

> Patient currently denies suicidal ideation, denies homicidal ideation, denies violent behaviour, denies inappropriate/illegal behaviours.

**Past Psychiatric History:**

**Previous psychiatric diagnoses:** Capgras Syndrome.

 **Previous medication trials:** none reported.

> **Safety Concerns:** History of Violence to Self: none reported. History of Violence to Others: none reported.

> **Mental health treatment history discussed** : History of outpatient treatment: not reported. Previous psychiatric hospitalisations: not reported except for aforementioned. Prior substance abuse treatment: not reported.

> **Treatment history:** Client does not report history of trauma including abuse, domestic violence, witnessing disturbing events.

> **Substance Use:** Client denies use or dependence on stimulants, nicotine/tobacco products, dependence on alcohol, pain control or other controlled/illicit substances.

* _Jeez, Chris. Why’d you bother visiting a psych if you’re going to deny three-quarters of your personal history? Stim abuse is what kept some of us on our feet in sickbay._

She resolves to be more forthcoming the next time, or else there’s no point taking T’Stasht’s advice to visit earth just to visit a human shrink.

* * *

“Spock, you old devil in denial, what’s up?” McCoy’s eyes twinkle, after Spock answers the door chime.

“My wife’s predictions were correct,” Spock turns his head into the interior of the house, where Christine stands nearly mute behind him. It will take her awhile to get over the shock.

“What’s that, husband?” She teases him.

“It is time, Christine. Our friends begin to arrive.”

“No rush, Spock.” McCoy pushes his way in. “You don’t get rid of us that easily.”

“I think perhaps you mis-understand our intentions but please do *force* your way in and make yourself at home.” Spock moves aside.

“Leonard! Come in, come in! Who else is with you?” Lady Amanda shifts into host mode.

“Just him,” McCoy points over his shoulder with his hitch-hiker thumb.

“Jim! Come in. Get comfortable! Where are the others?”

“Shhh! They’re coming, ha. Where’s my former first officer?”

“Just to the left, pretending not to be excited,” Amanda smiles.

“Captain; Doctor. Welcome.” Spock bows his head. He will need to disappear back into the washroom due to his link with Ambassador Spock, who isn’t trying to control his emotions. “One moment,” Spock asks. He flees down the hall.

“He always was the most sentimental among us,” McCoy muses. “Let me get this meat in the chiller.” He looks down at the parcel he carries. “I imagine Spock can’t wait for the taste of South Carolina-style pulled pork I’ve generously brought as a reminder of the good things in life!” 

“I don’t know about him but let’s indulge in our inner carnivores! Please tell me you’ve brought the mustard-based bbq sauce!” Amanda pleads.

“Just there in the cooler in the flitter, M’lady,” McCoy says with a flirtatious twinkle in his eyes.

Life is good with the old crew joining together — means, superstition says, disaster is close on its heels.

“I’m ready to prepare Shaksuka”, Ny says, hidden behind Scotty, who files in behind Jim, bearing a steamer tray of haggis.

Jim indicates a crockpot of poutine in the back of the flitter McCoy’s rented. Not a one of the dishes are pointed towards Vulcan tastes and Amanda thinks that’s just grand.

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends reunite and discuss the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it again. I wrote all these characters into the scene, then failed to describe what each of them are doing at every moment in time.
> 
> On the other hand, it isn’t really necessary, is it? Imagine them off in corners catching up on personal news, or eating, or whatever. The dialogues are more important, not whether a not a character has just scratched their nose, lol.

# Shikahr, Vulcan 2274 (Un-named Timeline)

 _All that really belongs to us is time; even he who has nothing else has that._ -Baltasar Gracián

On their way to the kitchen, Spock and Chris excuse themselves to their guests, the unspoken passing between husband and wife.

“Our friends are arriving, my wife. Do you share my joy?” after they’ve locked the door to their bedroom.

“I do, my husband. Very much so.”

He leads her to the bed and urges her to lay on her stomach, her pelvis on top of his pillow he has placed before her. He slips her robe up as he removes his, then he lays on her back, wrapping his arm around her neck _possessively,_ but without force.

He buries his face in her hair as he slips his fingers between them, stroking between her legs until he senses she’s ready, then guides himself inside her. He sighs contentedly as he moves slowly within her.

“Ohhhh,” he sighs, “Home.”

She smiles into the duvet, at the thought of the way her husband reacts to joy. They’ve made love in expression of joy many times over the years. She reflects that if there were a way to quantify the success of a marriage, that theirs is would rate high.

 _//Indeed, aduna,//_ he says to her through their bond.

She feels the warmth of his seed flood her, sending her over the edge as well. He groans and shudders, squeezing his release into her. As his spasms decline, he lays that way for awhile, enjoying the scent of her hair and sweat.

“Christine, you did not tell me the results of your psychiatry appointment,” he brings this up finally; his mouth is close to her ear, he wants to speak while they are in close physical proximity, rather than sort this out with her telepathically.

He’s sensed that she is more open with him when she doesn’t feel the need to ‘guard’ her thoughts. It is not logical, but he accepts it.

“I didn’t, Spock, because I wasn’t very forthcoming with the psych. I’ll need to go back or get a complete eval over the course of several visits,” she admits. She’s concerned that if she brings up the ‘wrong’ thing, it might affect her future career prospects.

“However you wish to proceed, wife. This troubles me, though. I ask that you consult a Vulcan healer at some point.”

“I will think about it, Spock. I have thought it before. Don’t you think we have enough brilliant minds among us that we can solve some of my problems discreetly?”

“Aduna, we none of us are trained psychiatrists or healers, are we? Promise me that you will do what you must to resolve these inner tensions.”

She hesitates.

“Christine. Promise me,” he presses.

“I promise, Spock. Just give me more time.” She turns her head and presses her cheek against his.

They both rise, and he sets the temperature of their shower as she steps in behind him. After they shower, they groom themselves and dress in fresh robes.

Leaving their bedroom, they find that Jan, Hikaru and Pavel are in the kitchen along with the others they’ve already greeted at the door.

“Spock, I’ve brought a batch of caesar salad for you, if you don’t mind the anchovies in the dressing,” Jan says as she embraces Chris.

“Girl, marriage really seems to agree with you,” Jan says, smirking at the obvious post-coital afterglow in Chris’ expression.

“Mhmm. How’d Transporter Theory go?”

“Scotty has been invaluable for advice and support,” she glances at the engineer with affection.

“Anything you’re not telling me?” Chris asks.

“No, it’s just friendship. I think Mr Scott has eyes for a mutual friend,” she winks at Ny.

“Haha, don’t start, Christine,” Ny chuckles. Spock inspects the tupperware container of salad greens Jan has prepared, the dressing set to the side in one of the smaller containers, along with a satchet of croutons.

“Thank you, Janice. I much prefer caesar salad to the good doctor’s idea of a meal,” Spock says, sampling a seasoned piece of lettuce then popping a crouton in his mouth.

“Uhura, you’ve got to see the harp Spock bought for me,” Chris says. “I’ll set it up in the living room in a bit.”

“Can’t wait, Chris,” Ny replies.

Pavel and Sulu wander over to hug Christine. “You two are sneaky. I want to hear about everything you’ve been up to,” Chris tells them.

“Later, after everyone’s a little lubed up and has met each-other. I take it we haven’t met everyone yet,” Hikaru says, smiling at Saavik and T’Stasht.

“For the house,” Pavel pulls several bottles of vodka from his bag. She laughs. “Only the best Russian Vodka.”

“My daughter and Sarek will be back later, we’ll probably be useless by then,” she muses.

“This is Saavik and T’Stasht. Meet Ny and Jan,” Chris introduces them, then the others, “and Pav and Hikaru,” deliberately using the diminutives of their first names.

Saavik and T’Stasht greet the party, offering refreshments and insisting they make themselves at home.

Saavik later takes her leave and steps outside to where McCoy and Kirk and standing together, each holding a drink in hand.

“Captain, Doctor, you do not know me yet, but we knew one another in another time and place. I served on the Enterprise in what will have been in the future. I have some material I would like you to go over when you have the time.”

“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” McCoy replies. “So we’re displaced, and the intention is to cheat fate by applying foreknowledge and technologies we’re not supposed to have? Have I got this right?”

“Do you see any logic in not trying?” Saavik asks.

“Bones,” Kirk says, “if events have already played out elsewhere, why the devil would we just walk back into the same traps here? Saavik, we’ll look at what you have then work together to- -I don’t know what you’d call it- -to ‘fix’ stuff.”

“It was a real mess over there, wasn’t it?” McCoy asks Saavik.

“A matter of perspective, Doctor.”

“If Spock is right about this place being a divergence, Bones, isn’t that sufficient evidence that mistakes were already made?” Kirk asks.

“Yeah, and it follows that this timeline should be re-integrated then, Jim. Meaning it would cease to exist. Apparently, no one’s on board with that plan,” McCoy says.

“Doctor, the timeline may sort itself whether we like it or not,” Saavik says. “Spock mentioned something about this possibly being a temporal causality loop and that we should keep a journal of our dreams and any incidences of ‘deja vu’.”

“If this is a loop, we’ll have no better choice available than to attempt to resolve it back into its parent timeline, if I understand the term correctly,” Kirk says. “We don’t want this to be a loop. No wonder Spock and Christine seem so distracted.”

“Enough of this talk,” McCoy pleads. “It’s depressing.”

“I would suggest never mentioning the subject around Christine,” Saavik advises. “She often seems on the verge of a nervous breakdown. One moment she is seemingly content, feels optimistic about the present and the future, the next she is wandering distractedly, casting glances over her shoulder and talking to herself.”

“The kid has been through a lot,” McCoy says, remembering his own very troubling negative encounter with mirror Spock. “No doubt she’s buried what happened deep inside her,” he shudders. He’d done the same after the mind rape he’d experienced.

Saavik observes the doctor. “You sound as though you’ve been through something similar.”

“You could say that, but I’m not discussing it,” he gives a nervous laugh. “So, if Chris is coping like I did, it’s a wonder she hasn’t completely fallen apart. I’ll keep an eye on her. I wonder if Spock has been fooling around with time travel.”

“Of course they have. How do you think I got here?” Saavik asks.

“Time travel causes its own set of neuroses and psychoses. This is getting grim. Our friends are in trouble,” McCoy says.

He changes the topic. “So, Miss Saavik? Have you ever tried pulled pork?”

She accepts his desire to change the subject.

“No, but I will try a small sample of it, Doctor.”

“Call me Leonard.”

“Only if you call me Saavik.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else think it was odd how Saavik was just disappeared from the ST universe?


	26. Bedtime Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece riffs off the trope that when Spock’s katra resided alongside Chapel‘s in Return to Tomorrow, an accidental bond was formed. I lol when imagine Spock, in panic, erecting multiple shields around his katra to avoid being ‘contaminated.’ The consequence of his over-the-top shielding: an incomplete transfer.

“Mother, tell me the story about you and Father,” T’Ara requests.

Christine kisses the top of her daughter’s head. “First lie down under the covers, sweetie.”

Her daughter dutifully slides down, rests her head on her pillow, curling her arm around her dragon plushie.

“Once upon a time,” Christine begins, “there was a prince who encountered three powerful alien souls who wanted to have bodies again, but they needed to borrow other people’s bodies in order to make bodies for themselves. The prince kindly offered his body to one of the alien souls. Two of the prince’s friends offered theirs also to help the souls, but this story is about the prince.”

Chris dimmed the lights a little, then took a sip of tea. “The prince’s soul had to leave his body when they put the alien soul in. The prince’s soul was put into something like a lamp, where a genie might live. The alien, now in the prince’s body, realised how strong and handsome the prince’s body was, and resolved to keep it.”

“How did the alien get in the prince’s body?” T’Ara asks.

“I don’t know, dear. They had many strange powers,” Chris told her.

“The evil alien soul, now in the prince’s body, needed help to carry out his plans, so he ordered a healer lady to help him. The evil alien and the healer lady went to another lair, where, in secret, the evil alien concocted strange potions; one potion was poisonous, the other potion made the evil alien stronger.”

“The evil alien told the healer to give the poisonous potion to his leader. The healer, confused about the alien’s intent, said, “If I give your leader this potion, your leader will die.’”

“The evil alien cast a spell over the healer, so that the healer wouldn’t remember the poison potion, and so that the healer would do whatever the evil alien wanted.”

“The prince’s soul knew about the evil alien’s plot and tried to tell the others. The leader of the aliens, in order to hide him, took the prince’s soul out of the lamp and put it in the healer. Suddenly, there were two souls in the healer’s head: the healer’s and the prince’s. The evil alien, believing that the prince’s soul was still in the lamp, destroyed it. When the evil alien ordered the healer lady to give his leader the poison potion, the prince helped the healer to remember that the evil alien had cast a spell on her. She shook off the influence of the spell and gave the evil alien the ‘poison’ potion instead.”

“The evil alien, tricked into believing that the prince’s body had been poisoned, fled that body, and ended up in space where it could no longer harm anyone. The good alien leader next took the prince’s soul out of the healer’s mind, and put it back into the prince.”

“Because the prince’s soul had earlier been put in the healer alongside her own soul, it came to pass that the souls got tangled up. Bits of the prince’s soul, or _katra_ , were left behind and merged with the healer’s soul; likewise, parts of the healer’s soul got dragged into the prince’s mind during the transfer, and mixed with the prince’s soul, becoming part of him.”

“There were fragments of the prince still left in the healer, and fragments of the healer in the prince, but neither of them knew this.”

“After sharing consciousness, both the prince and the healer, feeling somehow incomplete, sought the other’s company often. When they were together, they felt whole. When apart, they felt like something was missing.”

“One day, months or perhaps years later, they decided to bond. To be unbonded was bad for the prince anyway, and the healer craved love, but without the bond, the prince couldn’t love her. To bond was the logical thing to do. It was then that they discovered the missing parts of their souls. If it hadn’t been for the evil alien spirit, the handsome prince and the healer lady might never have grown close, become bondmates and fallen in love. To this day, they live happily, and will ever after.”

Christine looks down to see her daughter asleep. She tucks her daughter in and further dims the lights, then tiptoes out of the room.


	27. Every Love Story is a Ghost Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title -David Foster Wallace (who claimed it came from Virginia Woolf but it didn’t)

_With Spock off with Kirk and the others in town and elsewhere, Christine stays back and enjoys some quiet time with T’Stasht_.

T’Stasht smiles at her human charge. The Vulcan has waited years to become united with her other self. Past, present, future...she doesn’t see time as linear. If she ever did, she quit the habit somewhere along her long journey through history.

It’s true, she too has other selves in other-when’s; her place is here, with the House of Surak. The spirit of this age..who is it?, Perhaps Spock? It’s Spock. He’s the node, the personage connecting histories, shared or otherwise, in Prime timeline, the mirror universe and the fledgling Kelvin.

Her role? She ponders. Spock believes his hoard of pattern buffers will insure near-immortality.

She knows better. She knows his exotic technological trinkets bear fatal flaws. She knows Christine, under the influence of mirror Spock, coerced the descendent of Surak to create the collection. She knows they come in to use as stepping stones along the path of his own journey.

How far into the future will he penetrate? How does he get there? Who is the Spock who emerges on the other side?

All along, they’ve assumed facsimile’s of themselves dot the landscape, future phantoms who resemble the persons they see peering back at them from the mirror.

* _Perhaps..._ , she muses, _perhaps_. _But I know where they’re going, I know the true agent of their immortality._

The two women are silent, each absorbed in thought-discussion.

T’Stasht considers the pendant Chris wears, the companion to the one at rest against her chest, the one she gave Chris. The woman has been chosen, as Spock told her, but the choosing happened long ago, or will happen.

Time isn’t linear for T’Stasht. From Christine’s point of view, the pendant is a gift from T’Stasht, she has yet to learn that it’s never that simple when it comes to the girl. From the human’s point of view, she’s lived on Vulcan for less than a decade, before that served on the ship. Her personal history from before the ship doesn’t stretch back that far in her mind because she can’t remember. It’s possible there’s a part of her who remembers what she was before she identified as being Christine.

Christine wonders where the thought comes from, why she suddenly wonders if she has access to just a tiny part of her own history.

“T’Stasht?” Chris regards T’Stasht quizzically. “Have we met before I came here as Spock’s wife?”

“Perhaps.”

“Uh, okay...” Chris didn’t expect a straight answer. She remembers when T’Stasht melded with her briefly in that strange room under the surface. She didn’t make much of it at the time, but T’Stasht was familiar, in her mind, sort of the way dream characters sometimes are. In the dream, there’s never any question as to their identity. During dream recall, they don’t resemble anyone recognisable at all, at the same time they don’t _not_ resemble who they represent.

“Our lives aren’t exactly what I’d call ordinary. Maybe the simplest explanation is that if I think the answer is what it appears to be, the answer is incorrect.”

T’Stasht’s eyes twinkle. “A wise assumption. Do you remember the first time it occurred to you?”

“Yeah...it was after I’d joined the ship. I didn’t question until after I took it for granted. After ‘ordinary’ started to mean ‘something’s not right.’” She falls silent, the silence filled with things she’s not supposed to say out loud because they’re things a crazy person would say.

She sighs. “That’s when I started wondering if I’d been dead for awhile, or experiencing a dying woman’s dream.”

T’Stasht waits. It will not help the human woman to hide what she’s thinking. The most poignant detail about Christine’s incipient madness is that she’s aware she’s losing it. T’Stasht’s task is to catch her before she falls too far into the abyss. T’Stasht will succeed in her task, because she already has. Time isn’t linear to her. 

She knows Chris will ultimately recognise her, but the human has to do it on her own, she can’t be told the answer to the riddle, can’t be spoonfed her enlightenment. T’Stasht and Spock patiently await her moment of awakening. The beauty of those ‘aha’ moments are worth waiting centuries for.

“I know I make people uncomfortable when I bring that up,“ Chris was rambling again, ”I never got to explain why I began to think it.  
I’m well aware that it’s ‘crazy talk,’ for me it’s more of a thought exercise now rather than a dread suspicion.”

“It will not disturb me if you wish to discuss it,” T’Stasht says.

“Thanks. I feel like I don’t have to watch what I say around you, sincerely, thank you.” Chris shot her a smile full of affection. “I wanted to say if I started from the assumption that I was already dead, I stopped taking reality for granted. What I said earlier about never assuming things are as they seem? Comes from that sense that people like us aren’t permitted the luxury of the ordinary.”

Her expression is haunted now. “Need a theme park somewhere that we can visit now to see what ordinary and normal feels like.”

“That life is not for you, Inanna. You would not wonder if you had died, you would question if you ever lived.” T’Stasht lay her hand over Christine’s.

“Things are too quiet as it is,” Chris continues, ”but always around the edges of my vision there are shadows lurking; the more ordinary the setting, the more charged the atmosphere. I’m just before throwing coverings over all the reflective surfaces again. I keep seeing things in them.”

“You do not even recognise your own reflection anymore,” T’Stasht urges.

“No, haven’t for awhile.”

“Inanna, you are always on the edge of seeing him lurking because that universe is right on the edge of our perceptions.”

“That’s a comfort.”

“You are anxious when he leaves you alone for too long.”

“I know and I hate that about myself.”

“Because he is closer to you than you admit. He is a piece of your husband acting independently.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“It is not a matter of believing. As we sit here, they overlap and pass through us.”

“...Like ghosts.”

“Like reflections in a mirror. Next time you notice a familiar object that appears just slightly off, or wrong, look closer.”

“T’Stasht...”

“Christine, pay attention. In the blink of an eye, you will see what appears to be the reflection of the object. Blink again, the object’s appearance reverts to it’s familiar ‘polarity.’

“Ok, now you’re just fucking with me,” Chris mutters.

The girl smiles slightly. “Suit yourself, but if you ever notice it happening, wonder at its significance.”

“It’s absurd. I know the first thing my mind would reach for.”

They sit quietly for moments. One aspect Chris enjoys about the Vulcan is her well-honed sense of mischievousness; she’s filed this discussion under ‘T’Stasht’s Whimsies’, cautiously.

“Christine,” T’Stasht’s tone shifts, “those pattern buffer replicants - they will not extend your lifespan. Remember how Ambassador Spock and your husband were the same individual until the timeline split? It will be the same with each replicant released from the buffers. They will not be _you,_ the you who sits here with me now, you will not live on through them. Their life histories will not follow yours. You will not experience their lives through them.”

Chris, in the back of her mind, had already admitted this to herself. The replicants exist more for the comfort of the partner left behind. She’s not really comfortable with this discussion. 

T’Stasht strokes a lock away from Christine’s eye, then lightly strokes her psi points and sends the woman feelings of warmth and support. “Your destinies lie elsewhere. Through me is the way. You will come to understand, in time.” She brushed a light kiss across Christine’s cheek.

”The replicants can be our katra bearers, though,” Chris offers.

“You do not require them to bear your katras, but yes, you are correct. It is more important to seek mental balance in the life you are living now than to worry about carrying on in a replicant. Already you are paying a terrible price for your involvement with mirror Spock.”

Chris doesn’t quite understand but isn’t willing to ask T’Stasht to elaborate. She’s never immersed herself in Vulcan ‘mysticism’ but senses ultimately that her ‘survival’ rests on such ‘mysticism’. She trusts that T’Stasht has something better in mind, and her faith in T’Stasht and Spock’s confidence in the girl gives her comfort.

“T’Stasht...” Chris murmurs, “help me.”

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote another chapter, sort of want to upload it but not really, lol. I may as well proof and post it, so I can work on the Saavik sub-plot and get back to the mirror counterparts. As I learn how to write, I’ve grown distressed at my lack of restraint; on the other hand, it’s good for practise, there’s really no way to ruin it more than to not finish it...imo.
> 
> Wanting to tie up loose ends, the mirror counterparts have been suspiciously absent...I do miss them, and I will bring them back, but I got lost exploring the potential of that damned OC, which I didn’t plan to make so important. (If anyone’s still following this, it’s obvious I plan to flip the OC to where she’s not an OC by cheating her into Chapel. It’s not the ‘what’ anymore about the identity of the OC, it’s the ‘how’ that I am sorting out.)
> 
> Spock and Chapel are too lazy here, seemingly having abandoned research, Chapel moreso. All of the characters are too static, it’s because I prefer dialogue/banter, speculation and character interaction over all else. I can’t promise that they will ever stop loafing or being on permanent leave, because they’re involved in illegal temporal tech. They’re not gainfully employed because they don’t have to be...they make great criminals. They still need to time travel, and hop dimensions instead of spending years at the family estate, but since Chris’ brain is going moist, they’re tethered in Shikahr a while longer.
> 
> Characterisation: Putting them into an alternate reality meant permission to play fast and loose with characterisation like the Abrams gang did (although I admit their out-of-characterisation ruined the reboots for me.) I would prefer their dialogue to sound TOS-authentic, but my own sloppy grammar...ouch...I didn’t pay attention in grammar class the first time.
> 
> Their daughter...I find I really don’t care much for her. Prefer to dump her with her grand-parents, lol. I’ve got something in mind for her, once she serves that role she most likely will live out her one lifespan and be done, or done away with. 
> 
> I will get better, I promise...
> 
> 1)Shorter works (really, really love when inspiration to write poetry strikes, alas it doth striketh but rarely..); a drabble or two, experiment with POV, avoid massive tonal shifts, pay more attention to clarity, and rein in my rampant adhd.
> 
> I wanted to prove to myself that I could stay with a longer-read, I’ve done so to my satisfaction with this one, but it remains unfinished and I think it’s unfair to abandon it or settle for an unsatisfactory abrupt conclusion with tonnes of unresolved plot elements. 
> 
> 2) Complete fics before posting.
> 
> 3)Resist littering fics with half a dozen counterparts of the same characters; to stop letting characters cheat death or lifespan using technology (not that it bothers them doing so in canon.)
> 
> 4)Getting out of my Spock/Chapel comfort zone. I’ve just fallen in love with Chapel/Uhura. I can’t write smut, I’m half too embarrassed to even try, but tender bashful flirting and romance between those two...oh, just so lovely.)
> 
> Alas, I will never write K/S, nor Spones. I’ve nothing against M/M, mind, it’s that they’ve enough people out there writing for them already. 
> 
> 4) Stop using ‘crackfic’ as an excuse to be lazy and undisciplined;
> 
> 5)beta badly needed, eh but I’ll forge on without one. x


	28. Whatever

“Thanks, Spock. If you’d like to keep a pattern of me in a buffer, I’ll do it as a favour, but frankly, the idea doesn’t sit well with me,” Jim says, as he picks over the equipment.

McCoy is even more spooked by the idea. “If this were some sort of holo program where a version of me could be invoked to help with a medical emergency or research, I think I’d be more down with it, Spock.”

“We do not have that technology yet, Dr McCoy,” Spock says.

McCoy smiles tightly as he examines the diagnostic instrument next to a pattern buffer. “We don’t have this technology yet either, but don’t let that stop you.”

“Perhaps I will requisition holo emission technology from the future,” Spock says, seemingly more to himself.

McCoy laughs. “Don’t bother on my account, Spock. It’s just that...” he holds up the buffer, “I’ve never trusted the damn transporters and now you’re asking me to rely on them as insurance? Holograms seem less messy to me.”

“An intriguing suggestion, Doctor, which is why I will consider it.” 

Mr Scott walks over. “I’ll do it. Curiosity is killing me.”

“I suspected you would, Mr Scott.” Spock remembers the dream, how real the mind contact from his replicant seemed in those last moments. He’s less sure of what happened then than he was. It gnaws at him but has decided it’s irrelevant for now. 

The ambassador’s katra pulses, but remains _mute._

 _**//You have insight to add?//*_ he queries the katra.

**// _Always, but this is your journey. I do not wish to interfere when there is no immediate danger. Your wife, however. Her situation is more urgent. Then there is Saavik. Her return to Hellguard is imminent..//*_ Ambassador Spock reminds him. 

**// _I will help her in whatever way I can,//* Commander Spock says._

 _**_ _//Send for a healer to assess your wife now, Spock,//* the ambassador pushes._

_**//Is it that urgent?//*_

A mental raised eyebrow and telegraphed impatience is his reply.

**// _Either T’Stasht or yourself go to Hellguard with Saavik, you cannot both go and leave your wife alone here, and I would not suggest taking your wife to Hellguard,//_ * the ambassador reminds him.

Spock thought he had more time. It is confusing - Christine prospers into the future somehow. He’s been shown...

 _**//_ _Spock, you do not really know? I do not recall going through my life with the level of uncertainty that you experience almost continually. Work with the known, work with what we can likely know soon, and leave the rest until the situation with your wife is resolved./_ /* 

* _*//I have additional patterns of her..,/_ /* Spock tells the _katra._

 _**//...their utilisation is surrounded by uncertainties. The person she was when replicated may bear the seeds of what is happening to her now. That will need to be averted, and you have but a limited number of tries,_ //* the ambassador reminds him. **// _Help she who is your wife in this present, Spock-am.//*_

 _**//Do you fully understand T’Stasht’s role regarding what happens with Christine, Ambassador?/_ /* Spock is loathe to abandon this conversation.

** _//No, however I have suspicions, which I will not share with you. I will tell you that if I am correct, she will need to remain close to T’Sai Chapel,//_ * the ambassador replies.

Spock understands only that T’Stasht has chosen her as...a sort of successor? Her reasoning doesn’t make sense to him and he knows it’s futile to ask her. T’Stasht was never destined to have successors...unless...she’s not really a successor...?

The Ambassador sighs. **// _We cannot know until T’Stasht tells us,//* he tells this younger version of_ himself. **// _Again, work with the known and trust her to carry out her task successfully, Spock.//*_

_**//Do I not have a say in this, Ambassador?//*_

_**//You should want what is best for her, your marriage and the House. Your duty is to trust the ancestral spirit to know how she must act in regards to the fate of your wife. She would not have interfered if she did not recognise some unique aspect within Christine that required her involvement, Spock-am.//*_

The ambassador continues. _  
**//I find it ironic how well you and this version of my father get along.//*_

_**//I gave up struggling against the human elements of my nature, Ambassador. I no longer seek his approval and he neither offers nor withholds it. Compare to your own experiences. I have relished walking away from expectations. It is most invigorating.//*_

Ambassador Spock refuses to rise to his counterpart’s bait. **// _Indeed. This younger timeline is fascinating in its differences to its parent. Perhaps an indication that it will not follow the course of the original, after all,_ //* the ambassador muses. 

**// _It is hard to know if for better or worse, Ambassador.//*_

The ambassador cannot imagine it being worse for the Kelvin. 

**// _Why did you not choose to return to the prime timeline, Ambassador?//*_

**// _I felt my destiny lay with you, Spock-am_ ,//* the ambassador replies. Without preamble, he raises his shields and the katra dims in the recesses of Commander Spock’s mind.

Despite the many ways in which their opinions diverge, Spock is pleased to host the ambassador’s katra and sends the katra a feeling of fondness and appreciation.

The katra pulses once in response, then dims again.

They were once the same being. The ambassador’s choice is logical.

The others are milling.

“Mr Scott, you have access to these labs and I will inform the others. They tend to be a little ‘secretive,’ Spock says.

“I get that they are technically criminals like yourself,” McCoy teases, “but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Spock’s eyebrow climbs. “Correct, Doctor.”

“Well, just don’t destroy this reality in pursuit of your criminal enterprise, please, you pointy-eared hobgoblin.”

Spock purses his lips as he regards the doctor. 

“It is possible that we are where we are doing exactly what we are meant to be doing, Dr McCoy. If it were in my nature to be whimsical-“ 

“Spare me, Spock. I’ve been watching this shitshow since your little buddy, who is probably responsible for whatever this is, started messing with my former head nurse. I’m not completely unaware of how this works. If we started over there,” McCoy pointed off in a random direction, “and now we’re here, it’s because something caused us to end up here.”

“I can send you back to the prime timeline, doctor, to nearly the exact point in time, with regards to your current age, if you wish.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you whippersnapper! You know damn well that I’m baiting you,” McCoy cries. “Besides, if you sent me back there, there’d be two of us, and that universe couldn’t handle it.”

“I am not getting ‘smart with you’, Dr McCoy. Only next time, do  
not make it so easy to, as you might say, ‘call your bluff,” Spock replies.

Saavik smiles at the doctor as he sputters. These two will not change how they relate to one another for many years. She decides to move on. She’s discussed her story with Kirk, McCoy, Scotty and the others. She’s found it amusing that Rand and Uhura didn’t seem the least bit concerned or even interested. They intend to enjoy this as a holiday.

Kirk gives her his attention because Spock has summoned them here, Scotty out of fascinated self-interest, in the interests of engineering, McCoy out of thinly-disguised feelings of horror; would troubles from that time would never end? No, not when Spock was still meddling with them. 

“Your partners,” McCoy mumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “they wouldn’t happen to include two certain mirror universe counterparts, would they, Mr Spock?”

Spock schools his features and resists the good doctor’s baiting.

“That’s what I thought,” McCoy shakes his head. “We’re all going to hell, ladies and gentleman. Fasten seatbelts.”

Saavik chuckles. She’s seen worse, she’s made her bed here and, so far, the worst that she can say is that it’s a little too quiet around here, too suspiciously quiet. 

She’ll speak to T’Stasht later at their home.

“I could use a little excitement,” Saavik admits. Kirk and Scotty shoot her interested glances.

“Something in mind, Captain?” Kirk’s bored too.

“Curious you should mention my former rank, Admiral,” Saavik replies. “Once I realised how much tampering occurred in the original timeline, and how much *will have occurred*, I did some calculations and decided this was the best place to ride the remainder of my time out. I do wish to find my counterpart here, and mentor her. I cannot ask any of you to put yourself in danger for this mission.”

“Nonsense, lassie,” Scott coos. “Didja think we were just gonna take the safe, easy and boring route now that the last mission is over? How quaint.” Scott smiled for her. “Let’s hear your plan later when more of us are together.”

Saavik knows this crew are the souls of discretion, but she’s still wary of dragging others in. Mr Scott has essentially given her a recommendation and she trusts his judgement.

“I consider the matter settled, Mr Scott,” she replies. She glances at Kirk. He nods, amicably. He’s in. 

“Thank you. Even though I have never served among you here, you trust me and care enough for this stranger to assist in what will be a dangerous quest.”

“Oh, boy,” McCoy mutters and theatrically claps his hand over his face. They’ll require medical personnel for their mission, and Christine’s out of commission as far as he’s concerned. 

“Just let me know when to grab my gear, guys. I’ll audit the plan when, you know, we actually have one. Do we even have a damned ship?” McCoy starts planning despite himself.

Spock gives him a long-suffering look. “Transportation is the least of our obstacles, doctor,” Spock says.

“I wish to find her, get in and out under cover somehow,” Saavik adds. She looks at Spock. “Your wife needs you here. T’Stasht has told me she has a skill she can use as a sort of undetectable remote sensor.”

“It is an advanced mental technique, Saavik,” Spock says. “I would consult directly with her about it. I suspect she will need to meld with you first. My wife, meanwhile, is in excellent hands.”

Saavik nods. Not having an opinion about his comment about his wife, she focusses on his remark regarding the remote sensor. It’s an old technique, which in federation standard would be called ‘remote viewing’, and she’s not sure she believes in its efficacy, but she suspects T’Stasht has her own forms of access across space and time.

She again looks at this younger version of his mentor, this Spock who is so utterly different to the ambassador. This Spock has managed to be more at ease with himself without going to Gol and melding with V’ger as the ambassador has done. She’s not sure she trusts his capabilities as much, because he seems too complacent, but she cannot argue that sometimes less is more. He’s chosen the side of forbidden technology to ensure that mission outcomes are successful; the ambassador would, later in life, take a similar route - after losing nearly everyone who mattered to him. This Spock might be on to something.

She suspects that he - this Spock - will never meld with V’ger, will not die and be reborn either on Genesis...this universe’s history is unfolding too differently, too quickly. They will still need to be wary. 

“Saavik, we will discuss transportation options,” Spock comments.

Saavik muses that her Spock would never allow them to set off to the other side of the neutral zone without him. So similar, yet so different. 

Spock will wait for them to draw up any number of plans he works out plans of his own and present them before the mission begins. His agile mind considers the forms of known future technologies he’s got access to, what he can get access to, and the pro’s and cons of each. 

“I would ask that no-one take action towards the objective until I have gone over options available and presented them,” he addresses the group. 

“Of course, Mr Spock,” Kirk replies to his old friend. “We do things a little differently here. What other magic gimcracks you got stashed in this mountain?”

Spock allowed his lips to tick up.   
“It is my hope that we can accomplish everything from this side of the neutral zone.”

“Indeed,” Saavik says. “Without ever leaving this planet, is my prediction.”

He glances at this older woman who would have become his adopted daughter if it weren’t for the anomaly.

“That is my goal, Saavik,” Spock replies, “I have given up my career in starfleet to devote to exploration of the possible, regardless of legality.”

“Aye, Mr Spock,” Scott chimes in. “If any gang can pull it off, it be we. What’re we prepared to do if her counterpart does not exist here?”

Saavik has already considered this possibility. 

“The question then becomes whether or not she ever existed here, Mr Scott,” Spock says.

Saavik’s eyes brighten. If she ever existed here, they will succeed. 

Spock turns to her again. “I cannot make promises, but we have options regardless of whether or not your counterpart was ever here.”

Saavik holds her hand up. “I do not want to manipulate or cause more rifts to occur just to find a version of myself that never was, but I appreciate your willingness to consider all options, Spock.”

He glances down as the ambassador’s katra prompts him wordlessly. “The probability is greater than seventy eight point nine percent that she exists or did exist here. I am not the source of this information,” Spock says.

“Anything else you forgot to tell us, Mr Spock?” This from McCoy.

“No, doctor. I suggest you re-word the question,” Spock offers, his eyes giving away the mischief behind his request.

“Fine, you green-blooded walking computer. Ignore that Saavik showed us some of the files she brought over here.”

“Of course, Dr McCoy.”

“We have only researched the broad outlines of major events,” Saavik says. “There was no reason to get into details yet.”

“You mean like how your Spock put something in my counterpart’s head, missy?” McCoy grins. “And oh,  
I don’t know, how this Spock’s got that Spock knocking around in his head?”

Saavik glares at him, then softens the glare with a slight smile. “I have never underestimated your abilities to investigate, doctor, merely that I have never offered that information.”

McCoy laughs. “Thanks to you, we will probably be able to avoid that nasty episode. Thus lay my interests in doing a little deeper research.” 

She bows her head. This Spock may or may not have had knowledge of the incident before now, but he appears unphased. 

“Doctor,” Spock began, “I am confident that we have averted that particular disaster; that event is not likely to happen here.”

“Oh, Mr Spock? Don’t tell you’ve been fiddling with the timeline on your extended hiatus.”

“I had no intention of telling you that, doctor.” Spock replies with a little too much smugness. “However...”

“Since the evidence suggests that this timeline was engineered, I see no reason not to make a few minor corrections,” Spock admits.

“We’re screwed,” McCoy says, burying his face in his hands. 

Spock merely looks complacent.

* * *

“If we can find her, we will retrieve her,” T’Stasht says. Saavik pushes the container she was working on to the back of the counter and grabs the next set of vegetables to prepare.

“I know. What I do not know is where we go from there,” Saavik says. 

“Several things need to be resolved, then we will be better able to determine,” T’Stasht murmurs.

“Very well, because one could get bored here,” Saavik says.

“That, I believe, may be the intent. Fear not, we will be tested, Saavik.”

“Of this, I have no doubt, T’Stasht.”

“You did not know what was to come before, Saavik. In that other timeline.  
Not until just before you decided to seek out the counterpart of your mentor.”

“I realise this, but I have abandoned everything and feel a little rudderless at the moment.”

“That is to be expected, Saavik. Relax, you have already experienced much.”

Saavik continued to fill up on her prep vegetables. “I admit, it is nice to have the luxury.”

“It will not last, but we will respond to challenges as we encounter them.”

“How can you stand to live so long, T’Stasht?”

“I can hardly do otherwise, Saavik, when I seem to have such talent for it.”

“Especially if you are meeting yourself coming backwards from the future,” Saavik mutters.

“Even so,” T’Stasht says, smiling enigmatically.

Saavik glances at her. “You just love stirring speculation, don’t you?”

“I neither confirm nor deny. Mystery is preferred, admit it, Saavik.”

“Perhaps. I would not mind knowing more, I think.”

“You are fortunate to have arrived when you did, then.”

“Mmph. My current theory is difficult to believe, though.”

“The living embodiment of IDIC, however.”

“Do not tell me that you know what my theory is, T’Stasht.”

“I will not,” T’Stasht did not suppress her smirk. “You have already, in essence, told me.”

“I don’t think you know the details of what I meant though. Or perhaps, you do.”

“I do know, Saavik. I am not going to confirm.”

“No, so it will not matter if I just blurt it out. You are a result of timeline meddling, T’Stasht.”

T’Stasht rolled her eyes in an uncharacteristically human gesture.  
“Who here is not, Saavik.? Yes, even you.”

“...agreed, but we have brilliant scientists like Spock just starting to really manipulate ahead of their own histories, and such a scientist would move a universe to keep their beloved with them.”

“It works backwards and forwards regardless of who got an early start in history relative to others, Saavik.”

“Yes, that just makes it that much more messy, T’Stasht. Are you even Vulcan?”

T’Stasht’s lips tick up again. “Yes, I am Vulcan. Run your scanner over me.”

“You know what I meant, T’Stasht.”

“Do you believe that a human mind can achieve the mind rules?”

“I do.”

“Not without help, which is why your theory needs tweaking, Saavik.”

Saavik decides to spoil her dinner. “With world enough and time. What other reasons are you hovering around to scoop up Christine’s katra?”

“Because I have the most skill among us.”

“And what of Lady Amanda’s?”

“She is not as ready as Christine is, and I have no memory of carrying her katra.”

“That is not really an answer, T’Stasht.”

“No, it is not the answer you are seeking. I would intervene for the Lady Amanda as well, but all indications are that events will not have unfolded that way.”

“That is what I thought. You know what is going to happen because you already did it.”

“I recognise a familiar katra.”

“I do not have the benefit of hindsight from a future I have yet to experience.”

“Yes, you did have some, Saavik. How else did you know where to meet Spock and Christine to request to be brought here?”

“Right, I grant you this, and you do not have more hindsight than I do,” Saavik says with sarcasm.

“At present, my ability to correctly predict what will happen appears greater than yours, but that may be simply because I have more immediate access.”

“...because you are remembering farther into the future. I submit to you that your existence is an unintentional side effect of the path this Spock and his wife have taken.”

“I submit to you that I recognise a katra I have borne and have no need to know why,” T’Stasht replies with her usual patient but mischievously condescending tone. 

“Your answer sounds simpler, but it is not,” Saavik glances at her. 

“No, it is not. It is, however, what is true for me.” T’Stasht shrugs.

“I believe you. I still sense that I am on the right track,” Saavik says.

“Insight comes and I react, Saavik. I have confidence to act when I sense that my chance for success outweighs the chance of failure. That comes from access to very long memory. For the rest, I try my best, I keep my counsel, and legends continue to spring up around me.”

“You do not remember if you started out as Christine or not?”

“I do not, nor I do not know how I would profit from such knowledge, although I speculate that it seems unlikely - but possible.”

“Why unlikely?”

T’Stasht sets her knife down. “Is she not Terran? If she were originally Vulcan, would not your theory be more likely?”

“This is going to make my head ache,” Saavik says.

“What need have I to question what I do not know, when I have the rest of you to speculate on my behalf?” T’Stasht smiles again. “You wish to find your counterpart, I wish to help, Saavik. I have access to a great store of experience and knowledge. I do not remember, for the most part, how I managed to acquire such access, or what of it originates from my own experiences. I have it - this access to incredible memories - ancient mental practises...events. It is almost overwhelming. I *recall* so much, but I rarely know how I came to know. We all must choose our battles, Saavik, to preserve sanity.”

“So like Christine. This urge to help. I wish I had known her in the prime timeline, but I knew of her. It is almost as though she merges with her own V’ger then returns to help the rest of us mere mortals in your form.”

“Very imaginative, Saavik. It is possible.”

Saavik laughs. “I consider it not only possible, but fitting. Tell me, how did you learn of V’ger?”

The withering glance T’Stasht shoots her is priceless. “I know so much, Saavik, that it almost hurts. Permit me the comfort of my defence mechanisms. I rarely care to know how or why, I left off that sort of questioning as unproductive and potentially dangerous.” She walks to the end of the kitchen to check on the status of a side dish. “I do not know by what agent she would have ended up in this form.”

“You would be the agent.”

T’Stasht rinses her hands. “Obviously. This does not answer your question, though. I remembered her, especially when we first touched, here, in a way that can only mean that I was her katra bearer. This knowledge is sufficient. What you really wish for me to answer, I cannot...because I do not have the required information. When we judge that it is time, I will attempt to secure her katra. This event, however, may never come to pass, here. I will do my utmost to be ready, regardless.”

“Because you are a counterpart, too.”

“Do you never tire of stating the obvious?”

“...And you may be, at core, a much longer-lived version of Christine.”

“I may be. Would it please you if I were? I do not mind knowing either way, but someone else will have to do the heavy lifting,” T’Stasht begins to set the table. “That can be one of your quests, Saavik,” she grants. “As for myself, I am content to help with what knowledge I already have access to. I come with few of my own secrets, and with few answers. I am good at outcomes.”

“I apologise, I do not mean to push, T’Stasht. I cannot help but enjoy our discussions, as I cannot help but wonder: do you recognise my katra?” 

“I do not mind your inquisitive nature, Saavik. Never worry about asking me questions, you know to expect few answers. I am used to being questioned, but whether or not I know the answer will not matter much to the outcome. I deal in outcomes. I know when I feel confident that I can help. I have little more in me to give. I will indulge your last query: I do not recognise having carried your katra. This does not mean I will never. My long journey continues, and despite being brilliant at what I do, I am not omniscient.”

“Yet...” Saavik teases, rubbing the Vulcan’s shoulder affectionately. The Vulcan’s ego never suffers, regardless. 

“...Yet,” T’Stasht teases her in return. “I do know that you have spoiled your last-meal.” **/ _/If you were me, you would be cocky too, Saavik.//*_

Saavik glances at her in surprise, and her laughter rings through the house.

“You are a lot of fun, T’Stasht. Speaks volumes.”

“There is little point in being morose, Saavik. I think a trip to the wine cellar is in order. Ring them and accompany me.” 

“I have not heard Spock and the others return,” Saavik says.

“They will arrive within seconds.” 

Saavik takes a breath.

“I just know, Saavik,” T’Stasht says. “If you are not obedient, I will work to ensure that you take my place.”

“I do not think that would be wise.”

T’Stasht chuckles softly. “They are in the drive. Prepare to ring them.”

Saavik feels the change in pressure as the door opens, and rings them.

“The wine cellar.”

“Let us go.”

“You would make an excellent successor, Saavik. I am not ready to quit yet, though.”

“Of course not. You have yet to fulfil your destiny here.”

“I have not. I do feel a sense of urgency...lest someone else stub their toe and manage to accidentally create yet another timeline.”

Saavik laughs. “Your fake theatrics are telling, T’Stasht.”

“Tempt me more, Saavik.”

* * *

Saavik recalls how the Genesis planet caused Ambassador Spock’s ‘rebirth’ in the Prime timeline, but that had been an unintended consequence. That seemed to be the difference: they hadn’t chose to ‘cheat death,’ but since it happened anyway, *what the hell*.... she’s not sure where she stands either, but she’ll probably volunteer a single image ‘for science’.

She’s more interested in finding her counterpart here. T’Stasht has promised to help her. She’s fairly certain the Ambassador would aid her somehow.

Spock sighs. 

* * *

“Spock, who is T’Stasht really. I’m getting tired of non-answers.”

“If you cannot already tell, aduna? She has touched your mind. It is so obvious you look right past it.”

She sighs. “What I suspect is madness.”

“Truth is stranger than fiction.”

“I wish I had the option to have had a normal life, Spock.”

Spock pursed his lips. “We do not always have the luxury of choosing. I am sorry, Christine.”

She leans her head against his chest. “I know...I know. I’m not complaining, I just wish I could get rid of this feeling of dread.”

Spock rubs his wife’s back to soothe her. “Things will work out, my wife. Here with me, while times are good and we have refuge, I require you to relax. I will teach you relaxation techniques.”

“Spock...T’Stasht. I am part of her somehow, aren’t I?”

“She is the ancestral spirit of this house.”

“That narrowed it down,” she scowls. “At first I thought this all had to do with the mirror counterparts, but they’re just puppets like we are, aren’t they?”

“If we are puppets, then yes.”

“Oh gods, then what T’Stasht said about him being an independent component of your personality is true.”

“Yes and no. He is not important.”

“She said we can’t experience a continuation of our current lives through the replicants.”

“She is correct, but left out their usefulness as katra bearers, aduna. She left that aspect out for a reason. Do not be concerned about the patterns. They exist, we can choose whether or not to unleash them.”


	29. Quid Pro Quo, Mr Spock. Quid Pro Quo.

_*You created this timeline.._   
_*We were one…_   
_*You created this timeline…_   
_*We were whole, now we are many…_   
_*I came from the buffers you created, you are responsible for the Mirror Universe, you are responsible for this timeline…_   
_*We want to return to the source…_

Spock wakes gasping, swings his feet to the floor and dons his robe. He gently touches his wife’s temple. He has not awakened her. 

Words from his dream flit through his mind. 

_*I was released from the buffer…I am part of you…_   
_*It has always been you…_   
_*You caused the destruction of Vulcan in the Kelvin Timeline…_

He closes his eyes and blots his ears as if to stop the voice. 

_//Ambassador!//_

The katra pulses, glows.

_//I am monitoring the voice, Spock-am. It would seem the source is your counterpart from the Mirror Universe.//_

“Ah!” He presses his palms to his temples. His wife stirs and groans.   
  
_//If you are the source, you do not bear memories that belong to subsequent versions of you that have yet to be released from the pattern buffers in this time period.//_

“I must meditate,” Spock whispers to himself. 

The katra of the late Ambassador Spock takes command.

_//Send a personal communique marked ‘urgent’ to Commander Spock, USS Enterprise with your temporal subspace radio transmitter, to Stardate Twenty-two sixty-seven point ninety three, utilising personal encryption algorithm 94A. I will dictate special instructions you will send.//_

Spock allows the katra of his Prime counterpart to guide him to where his temporal transmitter is concealed, and carefully transcribes the ambassador’s instructions. He hesitates before transmitting. 

_//Transmit now, Spock-am.//_

Spock sighs and allows his hand to drop. It is done, the message is sent. If he is successful, all that he is now will cease to exist. If their hypothesis is correct, he is the author of chaos spanning multiple centuries. The creator and destroyer of worlds.

_*Can it be? If so, how is it that I have strayed so far from the path of order? What of the others? Saavik? Can any of them be spared?_

He rests his head into the crook of his arm resting on the desk. 

***

Commander Spock returns to quarters after receiving notification of the odd message held in the buffer queue. He is far better able to interpret the message’s significance than it was for the sender to prepare it. He examines what traces of metadata remain, the rest have been carefully stripped. 

He carefully seals the message and begins working on the gathering the materiel necessary to ensure that a critical sequence of events are averted. Over the next few weeks he takes readings throughout the ship. He examines the range of coordinates sent in the communique. 

Miss Chapel is never accidentally beamed into another universe during an ion storm. Their incipient relationship reverts to the negative, and withers.

She transfers off ship to complete her MD before the five year mission is completed, dying in a tragic accident while providing medical care to refugees on a war torn planet. He regrets her loss as he would any fellow crewmember, but promptly files such regrets under ‘kaidith’.

There are no messages from beyond the veil of dimensions.

He does not create the pattern buffer images of himself or anyone else. There are no death dream warning visions from other selves invading his dreams.

He returns to Vulcan after the crew of the USS Enterprise stand down. 

All appears to be as it was. Until it doesn’t.

While visiting his family in Shikahr, he finds himself drawn to the young Vulcan female who serves the House of Surak. 

He finds her in the garden on a late afternoon, taking rest in the shade. He nods at her slight smile of acknowledgement as he approaches.

He accepts her gesture of willingness to share the bench. They sit in silence for awhile. 

She reaches to pinch the pendant she wears, slipping it up and out from where it rests underneath her robe. 

_“Krasyvanee’l’th?”_

He accepts her traditional request for permission to lower her shields slightly, so he may read yet not be read in return, as he prepares his own.

“It would appear that I was not entirely successful,” he whispers.

“No. It may be that I am the last remaining remnant. I created pockets where I would be certain to survive. I travelled back and forth in time and space. I learned many ways to ensure that I am here to keep watch.”

“When she died-“

“When that body died."

“You already had her katra?”

“I have my katra. I knew that I would not survive in that form, I knew I would die there so, I transferred it after I got my MD. No sense wasting that training.”

“Christine, were you responsible for your own death?”

“No, Mr Spock, I had foreknowledge and pulled a ‘fix-it’”.

“Your human mind is-“

“Not human,” she finishes for him. “Never was.”

“Explain.”

“No. Later, I will show you, but I want something in return.”

“Miss Chapel…”

“Mr Spock…”

“What has happened? Why do I recall things that never occurred to me?”

“I will show you, or you will have access to everything I remember.”

“And if I do not accept?”

She smiles-a very human smile-as she gazes into his eyes.

“You will, Mr Spock. You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, it isn't complete.


End file.
